INDYRIDGE 


W-  RI  LE,  Y 


3  48  B 


WINDYRIDGE 

BY 

W.  RILEY 


WINDYRIDGE 


BY 
W.   RILEY 


NEW  YORK 

D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 
MCMXIII 


TO 

THE  THREE  KINDLY  CRITICS 

• 

FOR    WHOSE    PLEASURE    IT  WAS  COMMENCED,    AND 

WITHOUT    WHOSE    CONSTANT    ENCOURAGEMENT     IT 

WOULD  NOT  HAVE   BEEN    COMPLETED,   I   DEDICATE 

THIS   BOOK    WITH   MUCH  AFFECTION. 


2137909 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE   CALL   OF  THE   HEATHER     -  I 

II.  FARMER  GOODENOUGH  STATES  HIS  TERMS  13 

III.  GRACE  MEETS  THE  SQUIRE         -  23 

IV.  THE   STUDIO  -  32 

V.  FARMER   BROWN   IS   PHOTOGRAPHED  -  42 

VI.  OVER  THE   MOOR  TO   ROM  ANTON  -  48 

VII.  THE   CYNIC   DISCOURSES   ON   WOMAN  -  58 

VIII.  CHRISTMAS   DAY  AT  WINDYRIDGE  -  69 

IX.  MRS.    BROWN   EXPLAINS  -  79 

X.  INTRODUCES   WIDOW   ROBERTSHAW  -  88 

XI.  GINTY   RUNS   AWAY  -  -  IO2 

XII.  THE    CYNIC   EXAGGERATES        -  -  117 

XIII.  WHITSUNTIDE   EXPERIENCES    -  -  13! 

XIV.  BARJONA   FALLS   INTO   THE   TRAP  -  143 
XV.  ROSE   ARRIVES  -  152 

XVI.  THE   CYNIC   SPEAKS   IN   PARABLES  -  163 

XVII.  GRACE   BECOMES   DEJECTED      -  -  174 

XVIII.  CARRIER  TED  RECEIVES  NOTICE  TO  QUIT  l8o 

xix.  BARJONA'S  DOWNFALL  -  190 

xx.  THE  CYNIC'S  RENUNCIATION  -  -  203 

XXI.  AT  ZERMATT  -  213 

XXII.  THE   HEATHER   PULLS  -  225 

XXIH.  THE   PARABLE   OF  THE   HEATHER  -  234 


CONTENTS 


XXIV.  ROGER     TREFFIT     INTRODUCES          MISS 

TERRY  "  -  248 

XXV.  THE   RETURN   OF  THE   PRODIGAL  -  258 

XXVI.  THE  CYNIC  BRINGS  NEWS  OF  GINTY  -  272 

XXVII.  MOTHER  HUBBARD  HEARS  THE  CALL  -  282 

XXVIII.  IN   THE   CRUCIBLE    -  2Q6 

XXIX.  THE   GREAT   STORM  -  -  313 

XXX.  CALM  AFTER  STORM  -  325 


WINDYRIDGE 


CHAPTER     I 

THE    CALL    OF   THE    HEATHER 

I  AM  beginning  to-day  a  new  volume  in  the  book  of 
my  life.  I  wrote  the  Prologue  to  it  yesterday 
when  I  chanced  upon  this  hamlet,  and  my  Inner 
Self  peremptorily  bade  me  take  up  my  abode  here. 
My  Inner  Self  often  insists  upon  a  course  which  has 
neither  rhyme  nor  reason  to  recommend  it,  but  as  I  am 
a  woman  I  can  plead  instinct  as  the  explanation  —  or 
shall  I  say  the  excuse  ?  —  of  my  eccentric  conduct. 
Yet  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  been  quite  so  mad  before 
as  I  fully  realise  that  I  am  now,  and  the  delight  of  it 
all  is  that  I  don't  care  and  I  don't  repent,  although 
twenty-four  hours  have  passed  since  I  impulsively 
asked  the  price  of  my  cottage,  and  found  that  I  could 
have  it,  studio  and  all,  for  a  yearly  rental  of  ten  pounds. 
I  have  never  been  a  tenant  "  on  my  own  "  before,  and 
the  knowledge  that  I  am  not  going  back  to  the  attic 
bedroom  and  the  hard  "  easy  "  chairs  of  the  Chelsea 
lodging-house  which  has  been  my  home  for  the  last 
three  years  fills  me  with  a  great  joy.  I  feel  as  if  I 
should  suffocate  if  I  were  to  go  back,  but  it  is  my  soul 
which  would  be  smothered.  Subconsciously  I  have 


a  WINDYRIDGE 

been  panting  for  Windyridge  for  months,  and  my  soul 
recognised  the  place  and  leaped  to  the  discovery 
instantaneously. 

Yet  how  strange  it  all  seems  :  how  ridiculously 
fantastic  !  I  cannot  get  away  from  that  thought,  and 
I  am  constantly  asking  myself  whether  Providence  or 
Fate,  or  any  other  power  with  a  capital  letter  at  the 
beginning,  is  directing  the  move  for  my  good,  or 
whether  it  is  just  whimsicalness  on  my  part,  self- 
originated  and  self-explanatory — the  explanation  being 
that  I  am  mad,  as  I  said  before. 

When  I  look  back  on  the  events  of  the  last  three 
days  and  realise  that  I  have  crossed  my  Rubicon  and 
burned  my  boats  behind  me,  and  that  I  had  no  con- 
scious intention  of  doing  anything  of  the  kind  when  I 
set  out,  I  just  gasp.  If  I  had  stayed  to  reason  with 
myself  I  should  never  have  had  the  courage  to  pack  a 
few  things  into  a  bag  and  take  a  third-class  ticket  for 
Airlee  at  King's  Cross,  with  the  avowed  intention  of 
hearing  a  Yorkshire  choir  sing  in  a  summer  festival. 
Yet  it  seems  almost  prophetic  as  I  recall  the  incident 
that  I  declined  to  take  a  return  ticket,  though,  to  be 
sure,  there  was  no  advantage  in  doing  so  :  no  reduction, 
I  mean.  Whether  there  was  an  advantage  remains 
to  be  seen  ;  I  verily  believe  I  should  have  returned 
rather  than  have  wasted  that  return  half.  I  dislike 
waste. 

That  was  on  Tuesday  ;  on  Wednesday  I  went  to 
the  Town  Hall  and  entered  a  new  world.  It  cost  me 
a  good  deal  in  coin  of  the  realm — much  more  than  I  had 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  HEATHER  3 
dreamed  of — but  I  got  it  all  back  in  the  currency  of 
heaven  before  I  came  away.  It  may  have  been  my 
excitable  temperament — for  my  mother,  I  remember, 
used  to  condone  my  faults  by  explaining  that  I  was 
"  highly-strung,"  whatever  that  may  mean — or  it 
may  have  been  the  Yorkshire  blood  in  my  veins  which 
turned  to  fever  heat  as  the  vast  volume  of  sweet  sound 
rose  and  fell  ;  one  thing  is  certain,  I  lost  myself  com- 
pletely, and  did  not  find  myself  again  until  I  discovered 
that  the  room  was  almost  bare  of  people,  and  realised 
by  the  good-humoured  glances  of  the  few  who  remained 
that  I  appeared  to  be  more  vacant  than  the  room, 
and  was  making  myself  foolishly  conspicuous  by 
remaining  seated  with  my  head  in  my  hands  and 
that  far  away  look  in  my  eyes  which  tells  of  "  yon- 
derliness." 

To  be  quite  candid,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  did 
find  myself  ;  I  suspect  some  tenant  moved  out  and 
another  moved  in  that  afternoon,  and  I  am  disposed 
to  think  that  Airlee  explains  Windyridge.  If  I  were 
to  attempt  to  put  down  in  cold  words  what  I  heard 
or  what  I  felt  I  should  fail,  and  it  would  seem  very 
ordinary  and  uninspiring,  so  I  shall  not  make  the 
attempt.  But  when  I  got  outside,  the  noise  of  the 
busy  city  grated  on  my  senses,  and  the  atmosphere — 
which  was  really  not  bad,  for  the  day  was  bright  and 
sunny — seemed  heavy  and  stifling.  I  longed  for  some- 
thing which  I  had  not  previously  cared  about  ;  I  did 
not  understand  my  yearnings — I  do  not  yet — but  I 
wanted  to  get  away  from  the  wooden  pavements,  and 


4  WINDYRIDGE 

the  granite  banks,  and  the  brick  warehouses,  and  the 
huge  hotels,  and  the  smoke  and  bustle  and  din,  and 
lay  my  head  in  the  lap  of  Nature,  and  think. 

I  slept  a  little,  I  am  sure,  but  I  tossed  about  a  good 
deal  in  the  cosy  little  bed  of  the  modest  hotel  where  I 
took  lodging,  and  when  morning  came  I  found  my  Inner 
Self  still  harping  on  the  same  string,  and  more  vigor- 
ously than  ever.  Perhaps,  if  I  had  been  sensible, 
I  should  have  gone  straight  to  the  station,  and  by  this 
time  have  been  going  through  the  old  routine  in 
Bloomsbury  and  Chelsea,  instead  of  which  I  made  my 
way  into  the  street  after  breakfast,  and  asked  a  kind- 
faced  clergyman  which  tramcar  would  take  me  farthest 
away  from  the  turmoil.  He  was  a  fatherly  man,  but 
his  answers  were  so  vague,  and  he  seemed  in  so  much 
doubt  of  their  reliability,  that  I  disregarded  them  and 
accosted  a  bright  young  workman  who  crossed  the 
square  a  moment  later.  "  A  good  long  ride  ?  "  he 
repeated  ;  "  right  into  the  country,  eh  ?  Take  this 
car  and  go  to  the  far  end."  With  this  he  led  me  to 
one  which  bore  the  fateful  sign  "  Fawkshill." 

It  was  a  lovely  day  even  in  the  city,  warm  but  not 
muggy.  When  I  had  found  an  outside  seat  at  the 
extreme  front  of  the  upper  deck  of  the  car,  the  greater 
part  of  which  was  covered,  and  redolent  of  tobacco 
fumes,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  enjoy  the  breeze  and  the 
experience.  So  far  as  I  knew  it  was  just  a  parenthesis 
in  a  chapter  of  my  life,  not  the  beginning  of  a  new 
volume.  In  the  background  of  my  thoughts  there  was 
always  Chelsea,  though  I  affected  to  forget  it.  Mean- 


THE   CALL  OF   THE    HEATHER     5 

time,  in  the  foreground,  there  was  a  good  deal  to  make 
even  Chelsea  attractive  by  comparison. 

We  made  our  way  slowly  along  the  grimy  road,  with 
its  rows  of  monotonously  uninteresting  warehouses, 
and  its  endless  drays  filled  with  the  city's  merchandise. 
When  the  warehouses  ended  the  grime  remained.  We 
passed  street  after  street  of  brick-built  cottages,  over 
which  spread  a  canopy  of  smoke  from  a  hundred  factory 
chimneys.  When  the  country  was  reached — if  the 
bleak  and  sad-looking  fields  could  be  called  country — 
the  mill  chimneys  were  just  as  evident.  They  were 
everywhere,  even  on  the  horizon,  and  my  spirits  sank. 
The  villages  through  which  we  passed  were  just  suburbs, 
with  the  thumb-print  of  the  city  on  them  all.  Every 
cottage,  every  villa,  spoke  of  the  mill  or  the  shop.  As 
we  neared  the  terminus  I  found  to  my  dismay  that  so 
far  from  leaving  these  things  behind  we  were  entering 
a  prosperous-looking  little  town  which  was  just  Airlee 
on  a  smaller  scale,  with  its  full  quota  of  smoke-pro- 
ducing factories.  How  I  blamed  myself  for  following 
the  advice  of  the  young  workman  and  regretted  that 
I  had  not  trusted  the  parson  ! 

I  had  an  early  lunch  at  a  confectioner's  and  then 
wandered,  aimlessly  enough,  up  a  quiet  road  which 
led  away  from  the  town  and  the  tram-lines.  It  was 
not  very  promising  at  first,  but  when  I  had  passed  the 
last  row  of  houses  and  found  myself  hemmed  in  by 
green,  moss-grown  walls,  my  spirits  rose.  By  and  by 
I  reached  cross-roads  and  a  broad,  white  highway, 
which  was  manifestly  one  of  the  great  arteries  of  this 


6  WINDYRIDGE 

thriving  district.  It  had  no  attractions  for  me  and  I 
crossed  it,  and  continued  my  upward  path.  A  sign- 
post told  me  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  Windyridge. 

I  was  now  in  a  rather  pleasant  country  road,  but  one 
which  certainly  could  boast  few  attractions.  Yet  I 
was  attracted,  perhaps  because  I  could  see  so  little  in 
front  of  me,  perhaps  because  I  could  not  see  a  single 
factory  chimney,  look  where  I  would. 

Fifteen  minutes  after  leaving  Fawkshill  I  had 
reached  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  my  spirits  rose  with 
a  bound.  Just  in  front  of  me,  on  a  rising  knoll,  some 
fine  sycamores  and  beeches  clustered  together,  guarding 
the  approach  to  a  grey,  ivy-coated  hall.  The  rooks 
cawed  dismally  in  the  highest  branches  of  the  sycamores, 
the  leaves  of  which  were  already  beginning  to  fall. 
Autumn,  apparently,  lays  her  hand  in  good  time  upon 
the  foliage  in  these  northern  regions,  for  some  of  the 
trees  had  already  grown  ruddy  at  her  touch. 

When  I  came  to  the  bend  of  the  road  I  think  my 
heart  stood  still  for  a  second  or  two.  There  in  front 
of  me  and  to  my  left — almost,  as  it  seemed,  at  my  feet 
— were  the  heather-covered  moors,  gloriously  purple, 
and  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes.  I  could  not  help  it  ; 
it  was  so  unexpected,  and  it  unlocked  too  suddenly 
the  chamber  where  a  memory  was  preserved — a 
hallowed,  never-to-be-forgotten  memory. 

Years  ago,  and  long  before  his  sufferings  ended,  my 
father  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  one  day,  his  hand 
clasping  its  arms,  as  his  custom  was,  when  there  came 
into  his  eyes  a  look  of  inexpressible  longing,  almost  of 


THE   CALL    OF   THE   HEATHER     7 

pain.  I  went  and  knelt  by  his  side,  and  passed  my 
hand  gently  through  his  hair,  and  asked,  "  What  is  it, 
dad  dear  ?  "  He  drew  my  face  to  his  and  answered 
sadly — it  was  little  more  than  a  whisper  for  he  was 
very  weak, — "  It  was  the  heather  calling  me,  lassie  ;  I 
felt  its  sweet  breath  upon  my  cheek  for  a  moment, 
and  longed  to  fall  upon  its  comfortable  breast.  But  it 
cannot  be  ;  it  cannot  be  !  " 

That  was  ten  years  ago,  and  now  the  heather  was 
to  call  me  and  I  was  to  respond  to  the  call.  How  long 
I  stood  there,  with  the  tear  drops  dimming  my  vision, 
I  do  not  know,  but  presently  I  became  conscious  of 
a  village  street,  if  the  few  houses  which  straggled  back 
from  the  roadway  could  with  any  propriety  be  termed 
a  village.  I  walked  along  the  path  and  drank  in  every 
sight  and  sound,  and  thirsted  for  more.  I  thought, 
in  the  intoxication  of  that  hour,  that  peace  and  con- 
tentment must  be  the  portion  of  every  dweller  in  that 
quiet  spot.  I  know  it  will  not  be  so,  of  course.  I 
suppose  sorrow  and  heartache  may  inhabit  that  quaint 
one-storeyed  cottage  from  which  the  wreath  of  blue 
smoke  curls  so  lazily  ;  that  the  seeds  of  greed  and 
falsehood  and  discontent  may  thrive  and  grow  here, 
and  be  just  as  hateful  and  hideous  as  the  flowers  which 
fill  the  gardens  around  me  are  bright  and  beautiful, 
But  for  the  moment  I  did  not  realise  this. 

A  woman  was  washing  the  flags  at  her  cottage  door, 
and  she  smiled  upon  me  as  I  passed.  It  was  my  first 
human  welcome  to  the  moors.  At  the  sound  of  my 
footsteps  a  whole  regiment  of  hens  flew  from  the  hilly 


8  WINDYRIDGE 

field  which  was  their  pasture,  and  perched  in  line  upon 

the  wall  to  give  me  greeting. 

I  saw  no  sign  of  church  or  inn ;  no  shop  save  a 
blacksmith's,  and  that  was  closed.  The  cottage 
windows  and  the  little  white  curtains  behind  them  were 
spotlessly  clean.  Within,  I  caught  a  glimpse  here  and 
there  of  shining  steel  and  polished  brass  which  sparkled 
in  the  firelight ;  and  the  comfort  and  cosiness  of  it  all 
appealed  to  me  strongly. 

I  do  not  think  there  are  more  than  a  score  houses  in 
the  village,  but  before  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  the 
street  my  soul  had  made  the  discovery  I  referred  to 
just  now.  "  Surely,"  I  said  to  myself,  "it  is  good  to 
be  here  ;  this  people  shall  be  my  people." 

It  was  doubtless  a  mad  thing  to  say,  but  I  was  pros- 
pered in  my  madness.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the 
village,  just  past  the  little  Methodist  chapel  which  by 
its  newness  struck  a  jarring  note  in  the  otherwise 
perfect  harmony,  I  saw  a  long,  low  building,  of  one 
storey  like  most  of  its  fellows,  roofed  with  stone,  and 
fronted  by  a  large  garden.  It  was  separated  by  a 
field-length  from  its  nearest  neighbour,  and  the  field 
was  just  the  side  of  a  hill,  nothing  more.  Two  doors 
gave  access  to  the  building,  which  was  apparently 
unevenly  divided  into  two  cottages,  for  a  couple  of 
windows  appertained  to  the  one  door  and  one  only 
to  the  other.  A  board  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden 
and  abutting  upon  the  road  conveyed  the  information 
that  this  "  Desirable  cottage  "  was  "  to  let,  furnished." 

Then  and  there  I  gave  hostages  to  fortune.     If  that 


THE   CALL   OF   THE    HEATHER     g 

cottage  was  to  be  had  for  a  sum  which  came  within  the 
limits  of  my  slender  purse,  it  should  be  mine  from  that 
hour.  For  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  faced  the  moors  and 
the  sunset ;  and  I  vowed  that  the  windows  should  be 
always  open,  so  that  the  breath  of  the  heather  might 
have  free  entrance. 

I  pushed  aside  the  little  green  gate  and  walked  up 
the  tiny  path  amid  a  profusion  of  flowers  whose  names 
are  as  yet  unknown  to  me.  I  promise  myself  to  know 
them  all  ere  long  :  to  know  their  habits  and  their 
humours  :  to  learn  their  secrets  and  the  story  of  their 
lives  ;  but  that  is  for  the  future.  Something  almost 
as  sweet  and  dainty  as  the  flowers  claimed  my  attention 
first. 

At  the  sound  of  the  creaking  gate,  a  dear  old  lady 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  doll's  house  which  was 
joined  to  my  cottage  and  advanced  to  meet  me.  She 
had  the  pleasantest  of  faces,  and  was  pink  and  pretty 
in  spite  of  her  sixty  odd  years.  She  wore  a  cap  with 
strings,  in  the  style  of  long  ago  :  it  was  a  rather  jaunty 
cap  and  not  devoid  of  colour.  A  faded  shawl  hung 
loosely  around  her  shoulders,  and  a  white  apron  pro- 
tected her  neat  black  frock.  I  saw  at  once  that  she 
was  a  nervous  little  body,  yet  there  was  dignity  as  well 
as  deference  in  the  face  which  looked  smilingly  into 
mine.  But  the  manner  of  her  address  took  my  heart 
by  storm.  I  had  never  been  accosted  in  this  way 
before,  and  I  nearly  took  the  old  lady  in  my  arms  and 
kissed  her.  I  have  done  since  ! 

'  Yes,  love  !  "    she  said.     It  was  not  an  inquiry 


io  WINDYRIDGE 

exactly,  though  there  may  have  been  the  faintest  note 
of  interrogation  in  her  voice.  It  was  as  though  I  had 
told  her  of  my  desire  to  rent  the  cottage,  and  she  was 
expressing  a  gratified  assent. 

"  I  see  this  little  house  is  to  let,"  I  began  ;  "  may  I 
look  at  it,  and  will  you  tell  me  all  about  it  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  love,"  was  the  reply.  "  Now,  just 
come  inside  my  cottage  and  rest  yourself,  and  I'll  pour 
you  out  a  cup  of  tea  if  you're  in  no  hurry,  for  there's 
sure  to  be  someone  passing  who  will  tell  Reuben  Good- 
enough  to  come  hither." 

"  How  sweet  of  you  !  "  I  replied.  "  A  cup  of  tea  will 
be  like  the  nectar  of  the  gods.  I  will  drink  it  thank- 
fully." 

The  inside  of  that  room  was  a  revelation  to  me.  It 
was,  oh,  so  very,  very  small — the  smallest  living-room 
I  am  sure  that  I  ever  set  eyes  upon — but  so  marvellously 
clean,  and  so  comfortably  homelike  that  I  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  delight  as  I  crossed  the 
threshold. 

The  ceiling  was  of  oak,  with  deep,  broad,  uneven 
beams  of  the  same  material,  all  dark  and  glossy  with 
age.  The  stone  floor  was  covered  for  the  most  part 
with  druggeting,  whilst  a  thick  rug  composed  of  small 
cuttings  of  black  cloth  with  a  design  in  scarlet  was  laid 
before  the  ample  hearth.  An  old  oak  sideboard,  or 
dresser,  nearly  filled  the  wall  facing  the  window,  and 
on  its  open  shelves  was  an  array  of  china  which  would 
make  some  people  I  know  break  the  tenth  command- 
ment. A  magnificent  grandfather's  clock,  also  in  oak. 


THE   CALL   OF   THE    HEATHER   n 

with  wonderful  carving,  ticked  importantly  in  one 
corner,  and  a  capacious  cupboard  filled  another. 

The  wall  decorations  consisted  of  a  bright  but 
battered  copper  warming-pan,  which  hung  perpen- 
dicularly from  the  ceiling,  looking  like  the  immense 
pendulum  of  some  giant  clock  ;  and  three  "  pictures  " 
which  aroused  my  interest.  Two  of  them  were  framed 
examples  of  their  owner's  skill  in  needlework,  as 
evidenced  by  the  inscription,  carefully  worked  in 
coloured  wool — "  Mary  Jackson,  her  work,  aged  13." 
The  letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  the  numerals  from  I  to 
20,  with  certain  enigmatical  figures  which  I  took  to 
represent  flowers,  completed  the  one  effort,  whilst 
familiar  texts  of  Scripture,  after  the  style  of  "  Thou 
God  Seest  Me,"  made  up  the  other. 

The  third  frame  was  of  mahogany  like  the  others, 
and  contained  a  collection  of  deep,  black-edged  funeral 
cards  of  ancient  date. 

But  the  fireplace  !  My  father's  description  of  a 
real,  old-fashioned  Yorkshire  range  was  understood 
now  for  the  first  time,  as  I  saw  the  high  mantelpiece, 
the  deep  oven  and  the  wide-mouthed  grate  and 
chimney,  in  which  the  yellow  flames  were  dancing 
merrily,  covering  the  whole  room  with  the  amber  glow 
which  made  it  so  warm  and  enticing.  Through  an 
open  door  I  caught  sight  of  a  white  counterpane,  and 
found  that  there  was,  after  all,  a  wee  bedroom  built 
out  at  the  back. 

Drawn  quite  close  to  the  hearthrug  was  a  round  deal 
table,  covered  with  a  snowy  cloth.  Two  minutes 


12  WINDYRIDGE 

later  I  was  seated  there,  sipping  tea  and  eating  toast, 
deliciously  crisp  and  hot,  and  taking  my  new  friend 
into  my  confidence. 

I  confess  it  pleased  me  to  find  that  my  mad  proposal 
was  all  as  natural  as  the  sunshine  to  her.  The  dear 
old  soul  never  uttered  one  word  of  warning  or  sug- 
gestion. She  was  delighted  with  the  scheme  I  rapidly 
evolved  and  ready  to  be  my  willing  helper.  I  won  her 
affection  at  once  when  I  told  her  that  I  was  a  "  York- 
shireman,"  and  she  took  me  to  her  heart  and  begged 
me  to  let  her  "  mother  "  me.  I  lost  my  own  mother 
before  I  had  learned  to  value  her,  and  I  think  I  shall 
like  to  be  "  mothered,"  though  I  shall  be  thirty- five 
in  April. 

God  bless  Mother  Hubbard  !  I  must  tell  how  I  took 
the  cottage  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER    II 

FARMER  GOODENOUGH    STATES    HIS   TERMS 

A  FEE  of  one  penny,  paid  in  advance,  lent 
wings  to  the  feet  of  the  small  boy  who  was 
pressed  into  my  service,  and  before  many 
minutes  had  passed  Farmer  Goodenough  appeared 
upon  the  scene. 

He  shook  hands  with  me,  after  Mother  Hubbard  had 
performed  the  ceremony  of  introduction,  and  I  can 
feel  the  warmth  of  his  greeting  in  my  right  hand  yet. 
I  shall  be  careful  in  future  when  I  get  to  close  grips 
with  big,  horny-handed  Yorkshire  farmers  ! 

I  almost  regretted  that  I  had  felt  it  necessary  to 
explain  the  situation  to  him  when  I  heard  his  hearty 
and  somewhat  patronising  laugh,  but  Mother  Hubbard 's 
previous  treatment  had  emboldened  me. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare,  miss  .  .  ."  he  hesitated  and 
looked  at  me  inquiringly,  for  my  hostess  had  not 
mentioned  my  name. 

"  Grace  Holden  is  my  name,  and  I  am  unmarried," 
I  said  in  reply. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  answered — only  he  pronounced  it 
"Aw!" 

"  Well  now,  miss,  you  must  excuse  me,  for  I  mostly 
speaks  straight  and  no  offence  meant,  and  I  hope  none 
taken  ;  but  isn't  this  just  a  little  bit  daft-like  ?  '  Marry 


14  WINDYRIDGE 

in  'aste  an'  repent  at  leisure/  as  t'  Owd  Book  says. 
I'm  thinkin'  this '11  be  summat  o'  t'  same  sort.  Hadn't 
you  better  sleep  on  it,  think  ye  ?  It'll  happen  be  a 
mucky  day  to-morrow,  an'  Windyridge  11  hev  t'  polish 
ta 'en  off  it." 

I  have  written  this  down  with  Mother  Hubbard's 
assistance,  and  I  required  a  little  help  from  her  at  the 
time  in  the  interpretation  of  it.  But  the  farmer's 
candour  pleased  me. 

"  If  the  rent  is  more  than  I  can  afford  to  pay  I  shall 
return  to  London  early  to-morrow,"  I  said  ;  "  but  if 
it  is  within  my  means  I  shall  certainly  stay — at  any 
rate  for  twelve  months,"  I  added  guardedly. 

"  Now  look  you  here,  miss,"  returned  the  farmer ; 
"  I've  got  this  cottage  to  let,  an'  if  you  take  it  for 
three  months,  or  for  six  months,  or  for  twelve  months — 
for  three  months  or  for  six  months  or  for  twelve  months 
you'll  hev  it  to  pay  for.  Right's  right,  an'  a  bargain's 
a  bargain  all  the  world  over.  Frenchman,  Scotchman 
or  Yorkshireman,  a  bargain's  a  bargain.  But  nob'dy 
shall  say  'at  Reuben  Goodenough  took  advantage  of 
a  woman.  I  won't  let  you  this  cottage,  if  you  like  it 
so  as  never,  an'  whether  you  can  afford  it  or  no,  not 
until  to-morrow  I  won't.  An'  I'll  tell  you  why. 

"  You've  just  come  an'  seen  Windyridge  when  all  t' 
glory  o'  t'  sunshine's  on  it,  an'  t'  birds  is  singin'  an' 
t'  flowers  is  bloomin'  ;  but  it  isn't  allus  like  that. 
Not  'at  I'm  runnin'  Windyridge  down.  I'm  content 
here,  but  then  I  were  born  here,  an'  my  work's  here, 
an'  t'  missus  an'  t'  youngsters  were  brought  up  here. 


GOODENOUGH  STATES  TERMS  15 
But  when  you've  slept  on  it  you'll  happen  see  different. 
Now  you've  no  'casion  to  speak  " —  as  I  was  about  to 
protest — "  I've  made  up  my  mind,  an'  I'm  as  stupid 
as  a  mule  when  I  set  myself,  an'  there  can  be  no  harm 
done  by  waiting  a  toathree  hours.  Come,  I'll  show 
you  what  I  can  let  you  have  for  a  ten-pun'  note  a  year, 
if  so  be  as  you  decide  to  take  it  at  t'  finish." 

He  unlocked  the  door  and  stepped  aside  to  let  us 
enter.  The  kitchen  was  almost  a  duplicate  of  Mother 
Hubbard's,  but  longer.  There  were  the  same  oak 
rafters,  the  same  oak  sideboard,  the  same  huge  fire- 
place, the  same  cupboard.  A  horrible  contrivance  of 
cocoa-matting  covered  the  floor,  and  a  hearthrug, 
neatly  folded,  was  conspicuous  in  one  corner.  A  bed- 
room, of  ample  size  for  one  woman  of  modest  require- 
ments, opened  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  I  saw  at  a  glance 
that  I  might  have  as  cosy  a  home  as  Mother  Hubbard 
herself.  My  mind  was  made  up  ;  but  then  so  was 
Farmer  Goodenough's,  and  as  I  looked  at  the  square 
jaw  and  the  thin  lips  I  was  convinced  that  this  man 
with  the  good-natured  face  was  not  to  be  moved  from 
his  resolution. 

"  I  shall  take  the  cottage  for  twelve  months,"  I 
said  ;  "  but  I  recognise  the  force  of  your  objection, 
and  I  will  not  ask  you  to  make  out  an  agreement  until 
to-morrow — to-morrow  morning. 

"  But  I  claim  to  be  a  Yorkshire  woman,  and  so  can  be 
just  a  wee  bit  stupid  myself,  and  you  know  the  proverb 
says,  '  When  a  woman  says  she  will,  she  will,  you  may 
depend  on  't.'  Tell  me,  though,  is  not  ten  pounds  per 


16  WINDYRIDGE 

annum  a  very  low  rental,  seeing  that  the  cottage  is 

furnished  ?  " 

"Low  enough,"  he  answered,  "sadly  too  low; 
but  it's  as  much  as  I  can  get.  I  charge  fifteen  shillin' 
a  week  in  summer  time,  but  then  it  never  lets  for 
more'n  three  months  at  t'  outside,  an'  for  t'  rest  o'  t' 
year  it  'ud  go  to  rack  an'  ruin  if  I  didn't  put  fires  in  it 
now  an'  then,  an'  get  Mrs.  'Ubbard  here  to  look  after 
it.  So  I  reckon  it'll  pay  me  as  well  to  have  someone 
in  for  a  twelvemonth,  even  if  I  make  no  more  money. 
But,  miss  " — he  hesitated  a  moment,  and  thrust  his 
hands  deep  into  his  trousers  pockets,  whilst  his  eyes, 
as  I  thought,  became  tender  and  fatherly — "  you  must 
excuse  me;  I'm  a  deal  older  nor  you,  an'  though  I 
haven't  knocked  about  t'  world  much,  I've  learned  a 
thing  or  two  i'  my  time,  an'  I  have  it  on  my  mind  to 
warn  you.  What  t'  Owd  Book  says  is  true  :  '  As  you 
make  your  bed,  so  you  must  lie  on' t',  an'  it's  uncommon 
hard  an'  lumpy  at  times.  You  know  your  own  business 
best,  an'  I  will  say  'at  I  like  t'  look  on  you,  an'  it  'ud 
be  a  good  thing  for  Mrs.  'Ubbard  here  to  have  you  for 
a  neighbour,  but — think  it  well  over,  an'  don't  do 
nowt  daft." 

I  suppose  some  people  would  not  have  liked  it,  but 
I  did,  and  I  told  him  so.  And  really  it  had  the  opposite 
effect  from  that  he  intended,  for  it  showed  me  that  I 
might  have  at  least  two  friends  in  Windyridge,  and 
that  one  of  them  would  not  be  wanting  in  candour. 

These  preliminaries  settled,  the  farmer  handed  the 
key  to  Mother  Hubbard,  so  that  it  would  be  handy  for 


GOODENOUGH  STATES  TERMS  17 
me,  as  he  explained,  IF  I  should  turn  up  again  in  the 
morning,  and  prepared  to  take  his  departure.  Just 
as  he  reached  the  gate,  however,  he  turned  back. 

"  I  should  ha'  said  'at  you're  welcome  to  t'  use  o'  t' 
paddock.  If  so  be  as  you  care  to  keep  a  few  hens 
there's  pasture  enough  for  'em  an'  nob'dy  hurt.  An' 
if  you  want  a  greenhouse  " — he  laughed  heartily — 
"  why,  here  you  are  !  " 

He  motioned  that  I  should  follow  him,  and  I  stepped 
through  a  gate  in  the  wall  into  the  hilly  field  which  he 
called  the  paddock.  There,  firmly  secured  to  the  end 
of  the  house,  was  a  structure  of  wood  and  glass 
which  seemed  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  size  of  the 
cottage. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  this  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  but  my 
landlord  only  laughed  the  louder. 

"  Now  then,  what  d'ye  think  of  that,  eh  ?  Kind 
o'  Crystal  Palace,  that  is.  Strikes  me  I  should  ha' 
put  this  cottage  in'  t'  Airlee  Mercury — '  Desirable 
country  residence  with  conservatory.  Apply,  Good- 
enough,  Windyridge.'  Them  'at  takes  t'  cottage  gets 
t'  conservatory  thrown  in  at  t'  same  rent.  It  was  put 
up  by  t'  last  tenant  wi'  my  consent,  an'  he  was  as 
daft  as " 

"As  I  am  ?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Well,  he  proved  hisself  daft.  He  kep'  hens  i'  one 
part  an'  flowers  in  t'  other,  but  he  neither  fed  t'  hens 
nor  t'  flowers,  bein'  one  o'  them  menseless  creatures 
'at  gets  their  heads  buried  i'  books,  an'  forgets  their 
own  meals,  let  alone  t'  meals  o'  them  'at  can't  sing  out 


18  WINDYRIDGE 

for  'em.     T'  upshot  of  it  all  was  he  left  t'  cottage  an' 

made  me  a  present  of  all  t'  bag  o'  tricks." 

Then  and  there  the  idea  of  my  studio  had  its  birth. 
With  a  very  little  alteration  I  saw  that  I  could  easily 
adapt  it  to  photographic  purposes  ;  and  I  was  more 
determined  than  before — if  that  were  possible — to  take 
possession  of  my  Yorkshire  home.  I  know  people 
will  laugh  and  call  me  madder  than  ever.  It  does  seem 
rather  ridiculous  to  fit  up  a  studio  in  a  village  of  perhaps 
a  hundred  inhabitants,  but  my  Inner  Self  urges  it,  and 
I  am  going  to  live  by  faith  and  not  by  sight.  I  am 
irrational,  I  know,  but  I  just  don't  care.  I  have  got 
a  theory  of  life — not  a  very  definite  one  just  now, 
though  it  is  getting  clearer — and  I  am  sure  I  am  taking 
a  right  step,  though  I  could  not  explain  it  if  I  wished, 
and  I  don't  wish. 

Mother  Hubbard  was  tearful  when  I  wished  her  good- 
night, and  it  was  as  an  antidote  to  pessimism  that  I 
took  the  dear  old  soul  into  my  arms  and  bade  her 
stifle  her  tears  and  look  confidently  for  my  return. 
Farmer  Goodenough's  worldly  wisdom  had  convinced 
her  that  the  anticipations  of  a  quarter-hour  ago  had 
been  ill-founded.  She  had  counted  only  too  prematurely 
on  my  companionship,  but  the  farmer's  words  had  led 
her  to  see  how  unreasonable  it  was.  She  was  stricken 
with  remorse,  too,  at  the  selfishness  of  her  conduct. 

"  You  see,  love,"  she  explained,  as  we  sought  her 
cottage  again  and  drew  our  chairs  up  to  the  fire — she 
had  turned  back  her  skirt  lest  the  heat  should  scorch 
it — "  I  was  just  thinking  about  myself.  I'm  a  lonely 


GOODENOUGH   STATES   TERMS  19 

old  woman,  love,  and  it's  only  natural  I  should  like  the 
company  of  a  nice,  friendly  young  lady  like  yourself ; 
but  that's  just  selfishness.  You  must  think  over 
what  Reuben  has  said,  and  don't  do  anything  rash, 
but — -" 

"  Mother  Hubbard,"  I  said,  "  you  need  not  crumple 
your  apron  by  turning  it  into  a  handkerchief,  nor  wet 
it  by  shedding  useless  tears.  And  I'm  not  a  hair- 
brained  young  lady,  fresh  from  school,  but  a  sensible 
woman  of  thirty-five.  Mark  my  word  !  At  twelve 
o'clock  to-morrow  I  shall  be  with  you  again,  and  I 
shall  have  lunch  with  you  ;  and  you'll  oblige  me  by 
airing  my  bed  for  me,  and  getting  things  ship-shape, 
for  to-morrow  night  I  shall  be  your  next-door  neigh- 
bour." 

I  went  back  to  Airlee  by  train  from  Fawkshill.  I 
had  noticed  the  railway  as  I  came  in  the  morning,  and 
I  felt  that  the  tram  would  be  too  slow.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  it  took  nearly  as  long  and  cost  me  more  money. 
But  my  mind  was  full  of  Windy  ridge  and  I  was  oblivi- 
ous to  everything  else.  When  I  reached  the  coffee- 
room  of  the  hotel  I  was  calmer,  for  somehow  the  old 
familiar  sights  and  sounds  of  the  city  threw  my  cottage 
into  the  background,  and  I  was  able  to  view  the  situa- 
tion dispassionately. 

Had  I  been  a  fool  ?  Was  not  Farmer  Goodenough 
right,  after  all ;  and  had  not  his  sound  common-sense 
saved  me  from  committing  myself  to  a  rash  and 
quixotic  adventure  ? 

"  Grace  Holden,"  I  said,  "  you  have  got  to  face  this 


20  WINDYRIDGE 

question,  and  not  make  an  ass  of  yourself.  Weigh 
up  the  pros  and  cons.  Get  pencil  and  paper  and  make 
your  calculations  and  strike  your  balance,  and  don't 
for  goodness'  sake  be  emotional." 

Then  my  Inner  Self  said  with  great  distinctness, 
"  Grace  Holden,  the  heather  has  called  you  !  Listen 
to  it  !  "  And  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
just. 

My  first  sensation  on  awaking  was  one  of  exhilaration. 
Not  a  single  cloud  of  doubt  or  apprehension  appeared 
upon  the  sky  of  my  hopes  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  rosy 
bright  with  the  promise  of  success.  I  like  to  trust  my 
intuitions,  for  it  seems  to  me  you  treat  them  unfairly 
and  do  not  give  them  a  chance  of  developing  upon 
really  strong  lines  if  you  don't  do  so.  Intuitions  are 
bound  to  become  weak  and  flabby  if  you  are  always 
coddling  them  and  hesitating  whether  to  let  them  feel 
their  feet.  An  intuition  that  comes  to  you  deprecat- 
ingly,  and  hints  that  it  does  not  expect  to  be  trusted, 
is  a  useless  thing  that  is  dying  of  starvation.  My 
intuitions  are  healthy  and  reliable  because  I  believe 
in  them  and  treat  them  as  advisers,  and  am  becomingly 
deferential.  It's  nice  to  feel  that  your  Inner  Self  likes 
you  too  well  to  lead  you  astray. 

I  wrote  several  letters  and  chuckled  to  myself  when 
I  thought  of  the  effect  they  would  produce  in  certain 
quarters.  I  am  just  a  nonentity,  of  course,  in  the  city 
of  London,  and  nobody  outside  of  it  ever  heard  of  me 
so  far  as  I  know,  and  I  am  my  own  mistress,  without  a 
relative  of  any  kind  to  lay  a  restraining  hand  upon  my 


GOODENOUGH  STATES  TERMS  21 
actions  ;  yet  there  are  just  two  or  three  people  who 
will  be  interested  in  this  new  phase  of  madness. 

I  can  see  Madam  Rusty  adjust  her  pince-nez  and 
scan  the  postmark  carefully  before  unfolding  my  note. 
And  I  dare  bet  anything  that  the  glasses  will  fly  the 
full  length  of  the  chain  when  she  finds  she  has  to  pack 
up  my  belongings  and  despatch  them  to  Windyridge. 
I  always  carry  my  cheque  book  with  me  in  case  of 
emergencies,  so  I  have  sent  her  a  blank  cheque  "  under 
five  pounds  "  to  cover  her  charges.  I  guess  there 
won't  be  much  change  out  of  that  when  madam  has 
filled  it  in. 

And  Rose  !  I  wonder  what  Rose  will  say.  I  think 
she  will  be  rather  sorry,  but  she  has  many  other  friends 
and  will  soon  console  herself.  And,  after  all,  she  did 
say  I  was  "  swanky  "  ;  but  I  daresay  I  shall  ask  her 
down  someday,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  attend  to  the 
little  matters  I  have  mentioned. 

I  paid  my  bill,  and  by  ten  o'clock  was  once  more  in 
the  Fawkshill  car;  but  I  went  inside  this  time,  and 
closed  my  eyes  and  dreamed  dreams.  I  got  rid  of  the 
factory  chimneys  that  way. 

It  was  approaching  twelve  when  I  walked  up  the 
garden  path  to  my  new  abode,  and  heard  the  joyful 
'  Yes,  love  !  "  of  my  new  mother.  She  could  not 
forbear  giving  me  one  peep  into  my  own  cottage  as  we 
passed  the  door.  A  cheerful  fire  was  blazing  in  the 
grate,  the  rug  was  in  its  place,  the  mattress  and  all 
its  belongings  were  heaped  around  the  hearth,  and  the 
clock  upon  the  wall  was  ticking  away  in  homeliest 


22  WINDYRIDGE 

fashion  and  preparing  to  strike  the  noontide  hour. 
There  was  not  a  speck  of  dust  anywhere.  Evidently 
Mother  Hubbard  had  been  up  early  and  had  worked 
with  a  will,  and  I  was  touched  by  this  evidence  of  her 
faith,  and  glad  that  I  had  proved  worthy  of  it. 

"  But  what  will  Farmer  Goodenough  say  ?  "  I  asked 
jocularly,  as  we  discussed  the  appetising  ham  and 
eggs  which  she  had  prepared  in  her  own  kitchen. 

"  Reuben  ?  Oh,  I  take  no  notice  of  him,  love. 
He  called  out  as  he  passed,  whilst  I  was  in  the  garden 
this  morning,  that  I  was  to  remember  that  he  had  not 
yet  let  you  the  house,  and  that  we  might  never  see 
your  face  again  ;  but  I  said,  '  For  shame  !  Reuben 
Goodenough/  though  I  will  admit  I  was  glad  to  see 
you,  love.  And  now  we'll  just  go  in  together  and  get 
everything  made  tidy.  Bless  you  !  I'm  glad  you've 
come.  I  think  the  Lord  must  have  sent  you  to  cheer 
a  lonely  old  woman." 


CHAPTER     III 

GRACE    MEETS   THE    SgUIRE 

I  HAVE  spent  my  first  Sunday  in  Windyridge,  and 
have  made  a  new  acquaintance.  I  believe  I 
shall  soon  feel  at  home  here,  for  the  villagers  do 
not  appear  to  resent  the  presence  of  a  stranger,  and 
there  is  no  sign  of  the  Cranford  spirit,  perhaps  because 
there  is  an  entire  lack  of  the  Cranford  society. 

My  adventure  befell  me  as  I  walked  back  from  church 
in  the  morning.  It  was  too  far  for  Mother  Hubbard 
to  accompany  me  to  Fawkshill  if  she  had  wished  to  do 
so,  but  she  has  no  leanings  in  the  direction  of  the 
Establishment,  being,  as  I  have  discovered,  a  staunch 
dissenter.  She  has  asked  me  to  go  with  her  to  the 
little  Methodist  chapel,  one  day,  but  I  put  her  off  with 
a  caress. 

I  was  as  full  of  the  joy  of  life  as  a  healthy  woman 
can  be,  whose  church-going  garments  are  two  hundred 
miles  away,  and  I  filled  my  lungs  again  and  again  with 
the  sweet  moorland  air  as  I  sauntered  leisurely  up  the 
village  street.  A  delightful  breeze  was  blowing  from 
the  west,  and  I  knew  that  my  hair  would  be  all  about 
my  ears  before  I  reached  the  church ;  but  that  was  a 
small  matter,  for  who  was  there  to  care  or  criticise  ? 
The  village  rested  in  the  calm  of  the  Sabbath  :  no 
sound  of  human  voice  or  human  feet  disturbed  its 


24  WINDYRIDGE 

quiet.  But  the  cocks  crowed  proudly  from  their 
elevated  perches  by  the  roadside,  and  the  rooks  cawed 
noisily  in  the  sycamores  as  they  saw  their  lofty  homes 
rocked  to  and  fro  in  the  swell  of  the  wind.  I  stood 
for  a  moment  or  two  to  watch  the  behaviour  of  the 
trees  when  Boreas,  rude  as  ever,  flung  himself  upon 
them.  How  irritable  and  angry  they  became  !  How 
they  shook  their  branches  and  shrieked  their  defiance, 
trembling  all  the  time  through  every  stem  and  leaf  ! 

As  I  passed  the  entrance  gate  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  Hall  grounds  a  carriage  was  leaving  it,  and  I  caught 
sight  of  an  old  gentleman  sitting  alone  within.  I 
guessed  him  to  be  the  owner  of  the  place  and  dubbed 
him  the  Squire,  and  I  was  right,  except  as  to  the  title, 
which  I  find  he  disavows. 

I  must  have  dawdled  away  more  time  than  I  realised, 
for  they  were  well  on  with  the  prayers  when  I  entered 
the  church,  but  I  will  guard  against  that  in  future, 
for  I  pride  myself  on  my  methodical  and  punctual 
habits.  But  hurrying  makes  one  hot,  and  churches  are 
often  chilly,  as  this  one  was  !  I  was  glad  when  the 
service  was  over  and  I  could  get  out  into  the  sunshine 
again. 

The  squire's  carriage  passed  me  on  its  homeward 
way  soon  after  I  had  left  the  church,  but  when  I  reached 
the  cross-roads  I  saw  that  its  owner  must  have  sent 
it  forward  and  decided  to  continue  the  journey  on  foot, 
for  he  was  standing  at  the  bend  of  the  lane  in  conver- 
sation with  Farmer  Goodenough. 

The  latter  smiled  as  I  approached,  and  half  raised 


GRACE  MEETS  THE  SQUIRE  25 
his  cap  ;  and  the  squire  turned  and  saluted  me  with 
grave  politeness. 

"  Mornin',  Miss  'Olden,  mornin',  "  said  my  landlord. 
"  So  you've  exchanged  the  'eath  for  the  'assock,  in  a 
manner  o'  speakin',"  and  he  laughed  loudly  at  his 
alliterative  success.  "  Well,  well,  some  must  pray  an' 
some  must  work.  'There's  a  time  for  everything/ 
as  t'  Owd  Book  says  ;  that's  it,  isn't  it,  sir,  eh  ?  "  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  Farmer  Goodenough 
strode  off.  In  a  few  seconds,  however,  he  was  back. 

"  Excuse  me,  miss,  but  I  should  ha'  made  you  two 
known  to  each  other.  Miss  'Olden,  this  is  Mr.  Evans 
of  the  'All,  an'  this  is  my  new  tenant,  sir  ;  a  lady  from 
London,  Miss  'Olden,  who's  taken  the  cottage  for  twelve 
months  for  a  sort  of  a  whim,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out." 
He  touched  his  cap,  and  turned  on  his  heel  once  more. 

The  situation  was  amusing  and  a  little  embarrassing, 
but  I  was  left  in  no  suspense.  The  old  gentleman 
smiled  and  looked  down  into  my  eyes.  He  is  a  fine  old 
man,  something  over  seventy  years  of  age,  I  should 
say,  but  very  erect,  with  deep,  rather  cold  eyes,  sur- 
mounted by  bushy  eyebrows,  and  a  head  of  thick, 
steely-grey  hair.  One  glance  at  his  face  told  me  that 
he  was  a  man  of  intellect  and  culture. 

"  We  may  as  well  be  companions,  Miss  Holden,  if 
you  do  not  object,"  he  said,  smilingly.  "  I  should  like 
to  ascertain  for  myself  whether  the  village  report  is 
true,  for  I  may  inform  you  that  I  have  heard  all  that 
my  butler  can  tell  me,  which  means  all  that  he  can 
ascertain  by  shrewd  and  persistent  inquiry." 


26  WINDYRIDGE 

"  I  am  flattered  by  the  attention  of  my  neighbours," 
I  replied,  "  and  I  can  quite  understand  that  in  a  little 
place  like  this  the  advent  of  a  stranger  will  create  a 
mild  sensation,  but  I  was  not  aware  that  there  was 
anything  so  dreadful  as  a  '  report  '  in  circulation. 
The  knowledge  makes  me  uneasy  ;  can  you  relieve 
my  anxiety  ?  " 

He  was  walking  along  with  his  hands  holding  the 
lapels  of  his  jacket,  his  light  overcoat  blowing  about 
behind  him,  and  he  looked  quizzically  at  me  for  a 
moment  or  two  before  he  replied  : 

"  I  think  you  are  able  to  take  it  in  good  part,  for — 
if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so — I  judge  that  you  have 
too  much  common  sense  to  be  easily  o'ffended,  and 
therefore  I  will  admit  that  the  villagers  are  prepared 
to  look  upon  you  as  slightly  '  daft/  to  use  their  own 
expression.  They  cannot  understand  how,  on  any 
other  supposition,  you  should  act  on  a  momentary 
impulse  and  leave  the  excitements  of  the  metropolis 
for  the  simple  life  of  a  tiny  village.  I  need  hardly 
say  that  I  realise  that  this  is  distinctly  your  own  affair, 
and  I  am  not  asking  you  to  give  me  your  confidence, 
but  you  will  not  mind  my  telling  you  in  what  light  the 
village  regards  this  somewhat — unusual  conduct." 

I  laughed.  Goodness  knows  I  am  not  touchy,  and 
the  opinion  of  my  neighbours  only  amused  me.  But 
somehow  I  felt  that  I  must  justify  my  action  to  the 
squire,  and  my  Inner  Self  put  on  her  defensive  armour 
in  readiness  for  the  battle.  I  seemed  to  know  that  this 
rather  stern  old  man  would  regard  my  action  as  childish 


GRACE  MEETS  THE  SQUIRE  27 
— and  indeed  the  scheme  could  not  be  regarded  as 
reasonable  ;  it  was  simply  intuitive  and  who  can 
defend  an  intuition  ?  I  therefore  replied  : 

"  You  have  certainly  relieved  my  disquietude.  I 
thought  the  villagers  might  have  conceived  the  notion 
that  I  was  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and  had  a  good 
reason  for  hiding  myself  in  an  out-of-the-way  place. 
If  they  consider  me  inoffensive  in  my  daftness  I  am 
quite  content  ;  for,  after  all,  there  are  hundreds  of 
people  of  much  wider  experience  who  would  be  not  a 
whit  more  lenient  in  their  judgment.  In  fact,  I  suspect 
that  you  yourself  would  endorse  it  emphatically, 
especially  when  I  admit  that  the  premise  is  correct 
from  which  the  conclusion  is  drawn." 

"  You  invite  my  interest,"  he  returned,  "  but  your 
silence  will  be  a  sufficient  rebuke  if  my  inquiries  over- 
step the  bounds  of  your  indulgence.  You  tell  me  that 
the  premise  is  correct.  I  understand,  therefore,  that 
you  admit  that  you  have  acted  on  mere  impulse  ; 
that,  in  fact,  our  friend  Goodenough  was  speaking 
truly  when  he  called  it  bluntly  a  '  whim.' ' 

"  I  am  not  skilled  in  dialectics,"  I  said,  feeling 
rather  proud  of  the  word  all  the  same,  and  mightily 
astonished  at  my  coolness  ;  "  but  I  should  not  call  it 
a  whim,  but  rather  an  intuition.  I  suppose  there  is  a 
difference  ?  " 

He  bent  his  brows  together  and  paused  in  his  walk  ; 
then  he  replied  : 

"  Yes  :  there  is  a  distinct  difference.  I  cannot 
deny  or  disregard  the  power  of  the  mind  to  discern 


28  WINDYRIDGE 

truth  without  reasoning,  but  the  two  have  so  much  in 
common  that  I  think  a  whim  may  sometimes  be  mis- 
taken for  an  intuition.  Can  you  prove  to  me  that  this 
was  an  intuition  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said,  and  I  think  it  was  a  wise  answer  ;  at 
any  rate  it  seemed  to  please  him  ;  "  nobody  could  do 
that.  Time  alone  can  justify  my  action  even  to  myself. 
I  am  going  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  the  proof  daily." 

He  smiled  again.  "  You  know  what  would  have 
been  said  if  a  man  had  done  this  ?  "  he  said  deliber- 
ately ;  "it  would  be  asked,  Who  is  the  woman  ?  " 

I  blushed  furiously,  and  hated  myself  for  it,  though 
he  was  nearly  old  enough  to  have  been  my  grandfather. 
"  I  always  feel  glad  that  Eve  did  not  blame  the  other 
sex,"  I  replied,  "and,  in  spite  of  the  annoying  colour 
in  my  face,  I  can  say  with  a  clear  conscience  that  there 
is  no  man  in  the  case  at  all." 

"  Do  not  be  grieved  with  me,"  he  said,  just  as  calmly 
as  ever.  "  I  realised  that  I  was  taking  a  big  risk,  but 
I  wished  to  clear  the  ground  at  the  outset.  I  have 
done  so,  but  I  hesitate  to  venture  further." 

His  tone  was  so  very  kindly  that  I,  too,  determined 
to  take  a  big  risk,  though  I  half  feared  he  would  not 
understand,  or  understanding  would  be  amused.  So 
I  told  him  something  of  my  life  in  London,  and  how 
its  problems  had  perplexed  and  depressed  me,  and  I 
told  him  of  the  heather  and  how  it  had  called  me  ;  and 
I  think  something  of  the  passion  of  life  shook  my  voice 
as  I  spoke,  and  I  expressed  more  than  I  had  realised 
myself  until  then. 


GRACE   MEETS   THE   SQUIRE     29 

He  listened  with  grave  and  fixed  attention,  and  did 
not  reply  at  once.  Then,  halting  again  in  his  walk, 
though  only  for  a  second,  he  said  : 

"  Miss  Holden,  subconscious  influences  have  been 
at  work  upon  you  for  some  time  past.  You  have 
experienced  the  loneliness  which  is  never  so  hard  to 
bear  as  when  one  is  jostled  by  the  crowd.  I  gather 
that  the  wickedness  of  London — its  injustice  and 
inequalities — have  been  weighing  upon  your  spirits, 
and  you  feel  for  the  moment  like  some  escaped  bird 
which  has  gained  the  freedom  of  the  woods  after  beating 
its  wings  for  many  weary  months  against  the  bars  of 
its  city  cage.  You  may  have  done  well  to  escape, 
but  beware  of  false  ideals,  and  beware  of  the  inevitable 
reaction  when  you  discover  the  wickedness  of  the 
village,  and  learn  that  injustice  and  vice  and  slander, 
and  a  hundred  other  hateful  things,  are  not  peculiar 
to  city  life." 

"  But  surely,"  I  interposed,  "  the  overcrowding, 
and  the  sweating  and  the  awful,  awful  wretchedness 
of  the  poor  are  wanting  here." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you 
think  that  the  devil  is  a  city  gentleman  whose  attention 
is  so  much  occupied  with  great  concerns  that  he  has 
had  no  time  to  discover  so  insignificant  a  place  as 
Windyridge.  You  will  find  out  your  mistake.  There 
are  times  when  he  is  very  active  here,  but  he  has  wit 
enough  to  vary  his  methods  as  occasion  requires. 

"  Sometimes,  as  Scripture  and  experience  have  shown 
you,  he  goes  about  as  a  roaring  lion,  and  there  is  no 


30  WINDYRIDGE 

mistaking  his  presence ;  but  at  other  times  he  mas- 
querades as  an  angel  of  light.  You  speak  of  the  evils 
you  know,  and  it  may  be  admitted  that  most  of  these 
are  absent  from  Windyridge,  at  any  rate  in  their  aggra- 
vated forms.  But  analyse  these  various  evils  which 
have  caused  you  to  chafe  against  your  environment, 
and  you  will  find  that  selfishness  is  at  the  root  of  them 
all,  and  selfishness  flourishes  even  in  the  soil  which 
breeds  the  moorland  heather. 

"  Don't  let  this  discourage  you,  however,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  held  out  his  hand,  for  we  had  now  reached 
the  gateway  of  the  Hall  ;  "  the  devil  has  not  undisputed 
possession  here  or  elsewhere,  and  Windyridge  may  help 
you  to  strike  the  eternal  balance. 

"  Come  to  see  me  sometimes ;  I  am  an  unconventional 
old  man,  and  you  need  not  hesitate.  I  can  at  least  lend 
you  good  books,  and  give  you  advice  from  an  experience 
dearly  bought." 

He  grasped  the  collar  of  his  coat  again  and  walked 
slowly  up  the  drive. 

Dinner  had  been  waiting  quite  ten  minutes  when  I 
reached  home,  and  I  found  Mother  Hubbard  in  a  state 
of  apprehension,  partly  lest  some  evil  should  have 
befallen  me,  and  partly  lest  the  Yorkshire  pudding, 
whose  acquaintance  I  was  to  make  for  the  first  time, 
should  be  so  spoiled  as  to  prejudice  my  appreciation 
of  its  excellences  from  the  beginning. 

But  no  such  untoward  event  occurred,  and  my 
appetite  enabled  me  to  do  full  justice  to  Mother  Hub- 
bard's  preparations.  We  have  come  to  a  convenient 


GRACE   MEETS   THE   SQUIRE     31 

and  economical  arrangement  by  which  we  are  to  share 
supplies,  Mother  Hubbard  being  appointed  cook,  and 
I  housemaid  to  the  two  establishments.  In  her  delight 
at  the  prospect  of  my  companionship  the  dear  old  lady 
was  prepared  to  unite  the  two  offices  in  her  one  person, 
but  this  was  an  impossible  proposition,  as  I  promptly 
pointed  out.  She  might  be  prime  minister,  but  not 
the  entire  Cabinet. 

So  we  shall  take  our  meals  together  in  her  cottage 
or  in  mine,  as  may  be  most  convenient,  and  I  think  I 
shall  be  able  to  spare  her  some  of  the  delightful  drudgery 
which  is  harming  her  body  whilst  it  leaves  her  spirit 
untouched.  Not  that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  maintain 
the  spotless  cleanliness  which  she  guards  as  jealously 
as  a  reputation  ;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  her 
unwillingness  to  consent  to  this  part  of  the  bargain  was 
due  in  some  degree  to  doubts  of  my  competency.  But 
I  am  willing  to  be  taught  and  corrected,  and  I  will 
encourage  her  not  to  spare  the  rod. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    STUDIO 

I  HAVE  been  here  a  whole  week,  and  as  for  being 
busy,  I  think  the  proverbial  bee  would  have 
to  give  me  points.  Monday  was  occupied  with 
a  variety  of  odd  jobs  which  were  individually  in- 
significant enough  but  meant  a  good  deal  in  the 
aggregate.  First  of  all  I  attended  to  household  duties 
under  the  keen  but  kindly  supervision  of  Mother 
Hubbard,  and  acquitted  myself  fairly  well. 

Then  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  studio  and  drew 
up  my  plans  for  its  equipment.  A  young  girl  from  the 
village  readily  undertook  the  work  of  cleaning,  and  the 
muscle  she  put  into  it  was  a  revelation  to  me  after  my 
experience  of  the  leisurely  ways  of  London  char- 
women !  I  soon  discovered  that  she  is  a  sworn  enemy 
of  every  form  of  dirt — or  "muck,"  as  she  prefers  to 
call  it — that  she  has  a  profound  contempt  for  all 
modern  cleansing  substances  and  mechanical  methods, 
and  a  supreme  and  unshakable  belief  in  the  virtues 
of  soft  soap,  the  scrubbing-brush,  and  "  elbow-grease." 

Four  hours  of  "  Sar'-Ann  "  brought  joy  to  my  heart 
and  sweetness  to  my  studio. 

Then,  with  some  difficulty,  for  he  was  at  work  in  the 
fields,  I  found  a  sturdy  and  very  diffident  young  man 
who  has  had  some  experience  of  carpentry,  and  who 


THE   STUDIO  33 

can  also  wield  a  paint-brush.  To  him  I  explained 
my  requirements,  and  also  handed  over  the  plan  I 
had  prepared.  He  stood  chewing  the  neb  of  his  cap, 
and  repeated  in  most  irritating  fashion :  "  Aw, 
yes  'm  "  whenever  I  paused  to  plumb  the  depths  of 
his  intelligence  ;  but  would  only  promise  to  do  his 
best.  As  a  matter  of  fact  his  "  best  "  is  not  at  all  bad. 

Sar'-Ann  informed  me  in  his  presence,  when  he 
showed  a  little  difficulty  in  understanding  one  of  my 
requirements,  that  he  was  "  gurt  and  gawmless," 
whereat  he  blushed  furiously,  and  most  unnecessarily 
so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  for  the  description  was  Greek 
to  me.  His  awkwardness  disappears,  I  find,  when  my 
back  is  turned  ;  and  he  is  really  a  very  capable  work- 
man, and  he  and  Sar'-Ann  between  them  have  made 
my  studio  most  presentable. 

But  I  am  anticipating. 

Tuesday  morning  brought  me  a  small  budget  of 
letters  and  several  parcels.  I  opened  Madam  Rusty 's 
first,  with  some  mischievous  anticipation  of  its  contents. 
I  knew  the  sort  of  thing  I  might  expect  :  the  quasi- 
dignified  remonstrance,  the  pained  surprise,  and  the 
final  submission  to  the  will  of  an  inscrutable  providence 
which  had  seen  fit  to  relieve  me  of  my  senses  and  her 
of  a  great  responsibility. 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair,  put  my  feet  upon  the 
fender,  and  prepared  for  a  good  time.  The  precise, 
angular  handwriting  was  as  plain  as  the  estimable 
lady  herself,  and  no  difficulty  in  decipherment  impeded 
my  progress. 


34  WINDYRIDGE 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  HOLDEN,"  it  ran, 

"  I  have  received  your  most  extraordinary 
communication,  which  I  have  perused  with  mingled 
feelings  of  astonishment,  sorrow  and  dismay.  I  am 
astonished  that  you  should  leave  my  house,  where  I  am 
sure  you  have  been  surrounded  by  every  home  comfort, 
without  a  single  expression  of  your  intention  to  do  so, 
or  one  word  of  explanation  or  farewell  to  myself  or 
your  fellow- boarders.  Conduct  of  this  kind  I  have 
never  experienced  before,  and  you  must  pardon  me 
saying  that  next  to  an  actual  elopement  it  seems  to 
me  the  most  indelicate  thing  a  young  person  in  your 
position  could  do.  And  I  am  sorry  because  I  feel  sure 
there  is  more  behind  all  this  than  you  have  been  willing 
to  inform  me  of,  and  I  do  think  I  have  not  deserved  to 
be  deceived,  for  I  can  honestly  say  that  I  have  endea- 
voured to  act  a  mother's  part  towards  you ;  and  as  to 
any  little  differences  we  have  had  and  complaints  and  so 
on,  I  did  not  think  you  had  an  unforgiving  spirit.  Not 
that  one  expects  gratitude  from  one's  boarders  in  the 
ordinary  way,  which  being  human  is  unlikely,  but 
there  are  exceptions,  of  which  I  thought  you  were  one. 
But  if  you  believe  me  I  am  dismayed  when  I  think  of 
you  going  out  into  these  wild  parts  which  I  have 
always  understood  are  as  bad  as  a  foreign  country, 
and  without  anyone  to  look  after  you,  and  no  buses 
and  policemen,  and  what  you  would  do  in  case  of  fire 
I  don't  know.  However,  they  do  say  that  providence 
takes  care  of  babies  and  drunken  people  and  the  insane, 
and  we  can  only  hope  for  the  best.  I  know  it's  no  use 


THE   STUDIO  35 

trying  to  persuade  you  different,  for  if  there's  one 
thing  about  you  that  is  known  to  all  the  boarders  it  is 
that  you  are  self-willed,  and  you  must  excuse  me  telling 
the  plain  truth,  seeing  that  it  is  said  for  your  good. 
So  I  have  had  your  things  packed  up,  and  Carter, 
Patersons  have  taken  them  away  to-day.  You  will 
find  it  all  in  the  bill  enclosed,  and  I  have  filled  in  the 
cheque  accordingly.  Of  course  if  you  change  your  mind 
I  shall  try  to  accommodate  you  if  I  am  not  full  up.  I 
cannot  help  signing  myself 

"  Yours  sorrowfully, 

"MARTHA  RUSSEN. 

"  N.B. — I  may  say  that  the  other  boarders  are  very 
shocked." 

Poor  old  Rusty  !  She  is  really  not  half  a  bad  sort, 
and  I  am  glad  to  have  known  her  :  almost  as  glad  as 
I  am  to  get  away  from  her.  It  is  my  misfortune,  I 
suppose,  to  be  "  nervy,"  and  the  sound  and  sight  of 
Madam  in  these  latter  days  was  enough  to  bring  on  an 
attack. 

I  turned  to  the  letter  from  Rose,  which  was  short, 
sharp  and  sisterly — sisterly,  I  mean,  in  its  shameless 
candour  and  freedom  from  reserve.  Rose  rather  affects 
the  role  of  the  superior  person,  and  has  patronised 
me  ever  since  I  discovered  her.  This  is  what  she 
wrote  : 

"  MY  DEAR  GRACE, 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ought  not  to  write  '  dis- 
grace/    I  always  have  said  that  you  are  as  mad  as 


36  WINDYRIDGE 

the  March  hare  in  '  Alice  '  and  now  I  am  sure  of  it. 
Your  letter  has  not  one  line  of  sense  in  it  from  begin- 
ning to  end  except  that  in  which  you  suggest  that  I 
may  come  to  see  you  some  time.  So  I  may,  if  the  funds 
ever  run  to  it.  It  will  be  an  education  to  do  so.  I 
would  go  to  see  you  in  your  native  haunts  just  as 
I  would  go  to  see  any  other  natural  freak  in  which  I 
might  be  interested.  But  I  won't  pay  ordinary  railway 
fare,  so  that's  flat.  If  the  railway  companies  won't 
reduce  their  charges  by  running  cheap  excursions  as 
they  do  for  other  exhibitions,  I  shall  not  come.  For 
if  you  are  not  an  exhibition  (of  crass  folly)  I  don't  know 
what  an  exhibition  is.  However,  you  have  a  bit  of 
money  and  a  trade  (sorry  !  I  mean  a  profession)  at 
your  finger-ends,  so  I  can  only  hope  you'll  not  starve 
whilst  your  native  air  is  bringing  you  to  your  senses. 
I  will  see  to  your  various  commissions,  and  if  I  can  be 
of  further  use  to  you  up  here, 

"  I  am,  as  I  have  ever  been, 
"  Your  humble,  but  not  always  obedient  servant, 

"  ROSE.  " 

This  concluded  what  may  be  termed  the  social 
portion  of  my  correspondence,  and  I  took  up  the  other 
letters  with  less  zest.  One,  a  mere  formal  acknow- 
ledgment of  my  changed  address,  was  from  the  bankers 
who  have  the  privilege  of  taking  care  of  my  money, 
and  who  have  never  manifested  any  sense  of  oppression 
under  the  responsibility.  Nevertheless,  two  hundred 
and  forty  odd  pounds  is  something  to  fall  back  upon, 


THE   STUDIO  37 

and  it  looms  large  when  it  represents  savings  ;  and 
in  any  case  it  is  all  I  have  except  the  interest  which 
comes  to  me  from  a  few  small  investments — all  that 
was  rescued  from  the  wreck  of  my  father's  fortunes. 
Well,  well !  I  am  a  good  deal  richer  than  some  very 
wealthy  people  I  have  met. 

Two  others  were  business  communications  from  firms 
which  give  me  employment,  and  I  may  frankly  admit 
that  I  was  just  a  little  relieved  to  find  that  distance 
was  not  going  to  affect  our  relationships.  Not  that 
I  had  been  actually  uneasy  on  that  score,  for  I  have 
discernment  enough  to  know  my  own  value.  I  am 
not  a  genius,  but  what  I  can  do  is  well  done  ;  and  I 
have  lived  long  enough  to  discover  that  that  counts 
for  much  in  these  days.  The  parcels  which  accom- 
panied the  letters  contained  sufficient  work  for  a 
month  at  least. 

Then  came  a  letter  from  Shuter  and  Lenz  with  all 
sorts  of  suggestions  for  the  furnishing  of  my  studio. 
The  consideration  of  this  occupied  a  couple  of  hours, 
but  my  list  was  made  out  at  last,  and  I  expect  I  shall 
receive  the  bulk  of  the  goods  before  the  end  of  next 
week.  Transit  between  London  and  Windyridge  is 
quick — much  more  so  than  I  anticipated,  for  my 
boxes  were  delivered  during  the  afternoon,  and  I 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  and  some  part  of  the  night 
in  unpacking  them.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  find 
storage  for  my  small  possessions,  but  I  accomplished 
it  in  the  end,  and  arranged  all  my  household  goods  to 
the  best  possible  advantage. 


38  WINDYRIDGE 

Since  then  I  have  been  sewing  for  all  I  am  worth. 
The  joint  establishments  do  not  boast  the  possession 
of  a  sewing  machine,  so  I  have  had  to  make  my  studio 
curtains  by  hand.  Mother  Hubbard  was  delighted  to 
be  able  to  help  in  this  department,  and  between  us  we 
finished  them  yesterday,  and  with  Ginty's  assistance 
I  have  hung  them  to-day  !  "  Ginty  "  is  the  carpenter. 
The  "  g  "  is  hard  and  the  name  is  unusual,  but  I  am 
inclined  to  doubt  whether  it  was  ever  bestowed  upon 
him  by  his  godparents  in  baptism.  I  suspect  Sar'-Ann 
of  having  a  hand  in  that  nomenclature. 

If  my  landlord  could  see  my  studio  now  he  would 
hardly  recognise  his  conservatory.  One  end  has  been 
boarded  off  for  a  dark-room,  and  the  whole  has  been 
neatly  painted  slate  colour.  When  my  few  backgrounds 
and  accessories  arrive  I  shall  have  a  very  presentable 
studio  indeed. 

Ginty  is  now  engaged  painting  the  outside  in  white 
and  buff,  and  he  is  then  going  to  make  me  a  board 
which  will  be  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  to 
inform  all  and  sundry  that  "  Grace  Holden  is  prepared 
to  do  all  kinds  of  photographic  work  at  reasonable 
prices."  I  don't  anticipate  that  barriers  will  be  needed 
to  keep  back  the  crowd. 

How  tired  I  am,  and  yet  how  wonderfully  fresh  and 
buoyant !  My  limbs  tremble  and  my  head  aches,  but 
my  soul  just  skips  within  me.  I  have  had  a  week  in 
which  to  repent,  and  I  have  never  come  within  sight  of 
repentance.  And  yet  I  have  seen  no  more  of  Windy- 
ridge.  I  have  not  been  near  the  heather.  I  have  not 


THE  STUDIO  39 

even  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  hill  behind  my  cottage 
in  order  to  look  over  the  other  side.  I  have  wanted 
to,  but  I  dare  not ;  I  am  terrified  lest  there  should  be 
factory  chimneys  in  close  proximity. 

Once  or  twice  it  has  been  warm  enough  for  me  to 
stretch  myself  full  length  upon  the  grass,  and  I  have 
lain  awhile  in  blissful  contemplation  of  the  work  of 
the  Great  Architect  in  the  high  vault  of  His  cathedral. 
That  always  rests  me,  always  fills  me  with  a  sense  of 
mystery,  always  gives  me  somehow  or  other  a  feeling 
of  peace  and  of  partnership.  I  rise  up  feeling  that  I 
must  do  my  best  to  make  the  world  beautiful,  and  use 
all  my  abilities — such  as  they  are — to  bring  gladness 
into  the  lives  of  other  people.  I  cannot  make  clouds 
and  sunsets,  but  I  can  paint  miniatures,  and  I  can  take 
portraits  (or  I  think  I  can),  and  these  things  make 
some  homes  bright  and  some  folk  happy.  But  I 
must  not  moralise. 

More  often  I  bring  out  the  deck-chair,  which  is  one 
of  my  luxuries,  and  sit  in  front  of  the  cottage  with 
Mother  Hubbard  as  a  companion.  She  is  splendid 
company.  If  I  encourage  her  she  will  tell  me  inter- 
esting stories  of  her  youth  and  married  life,  or  repeat 
the  gossip  of  the  village  ;  for  none  is  better  versed 
than  she  in  all  the  doings  of  the  countryside.  If, 
however,  I  wish  to  be  quiet  she  sits  silently  by  my  side, 
as  only  a  real  friend  can.  But  whether  she  talks  or 
is  silent  her  knitting  needles  never  stop  their  musical 
clatter.  What  she  does  with  all  the  stockings  is  be- 
yond my  knowledge,  but  I  believe  Sar'-Ann  could  tell 


40  WINDYRIDGE 

me  if  she  would,  and  I  am  sure  all  this  knitting  con- 
tributes no  little  to  Mother  Hubbard's  happiness. 

So  I  lean  back  in  my  chair  and  feast  upon  the  scene 
before  me  and  am  satisfied.  I  wonder  if  it  would  appeal 
to  many  as  it  does  to  me.  Probably  not,  for,  after  all, 
I  suppose  there  are  many  more  beautiful  places  than 
Windyridge,  but  I  have  never  travelled  and  so  cannot 
compare  them.  Then  again,  this  is  Yorkshire  and  I 
am  "  Yorkshire,"  and  that  explains  something.  Still, 
I  ought  to  try  to  write  down  what  it  is  that  impresses 
me,  so  I  will  paint  as  well  as  I  can  the  picture  that  is 
spread  before  me  as  I  sit. 

First  of  all,  as  a  fitting  foreground,  the  garden — 
past  its  best,  I  can  see,  but  still  gay  with  all  the  wild 
profusion  of  Flora's  providing ;  plants  whose  names 
are  as  yet  unknown  to  me,  but  which  are  a  constant 
delight  to  sight  and  smell.  Then  the  road,  with  its 
border  of  cool,  green  grass,  winding  down  into  the 
valley  between  hedges  of  hawthorn  and  holly — ragged, 
untidy  hedges,  brown  and  green  where  the  sun  catches 
them,  blue-grey  and  confused  in  the  shadows.  Beyond 
them  a  stretch  of  fields — meadow  and  pasture,  and 
the  brown  and  kindly  face  of  Mother  Earth  dipping 
steeply  down  to  meet  the  trees  which  fill  the  narrow 
valley,  and  are  just  beginning  to  catch  the  colours  of 
the  sunset.  Footpaths  cross  the  fields,  and  I  see  at 
times  those  who  tread  them  and  climb  the  stiles  between 
the  rough  grey  walls  ;  and  I  promise  myself  many  a 
good  time  there,  but  not  yet. 

On  the  other  side,  beyond  the  trees,  the  climb  is 


THE   STUDIO  41 

stiffer,  and  the  hills  rise,  as  it  sometimes  seems,  into 
the  low-lying  clouds.  I  can  see  a  few  houses  under  the 
shelter  of  a  clump  of  chestnuts  and  sycamores,  the 
farthest  outposts  of  their  comrades  in  the  valley,  but 
far  above  them  rises  the  moor,  the  glorious  moor, 
heather-clad,  wild,  and,  but  for  the  winding  roads,  as 
God  made  it.  Far  away  to  the  west  it  stretches,  and 
when  the  day  is  clear  I  catch  the  glow  of  the  gorse  and 
the  daily  decreasing  hint  of  purple  on  the  horizon  miles 
away  ;  but  in  these  autumn  days  the  distance  is  often 
wrapped  in  a  diaphanous  shawl  of  mist,  which  yet 
lends  a  charm  to  the  glories  it  half  conceals. 

High  up  the  hill  to  the  left  is  the  village  of  Marsland, 
with  its  squat,  grey  church,  which  I  must  visit  one  day  ; 
and  farther  away  still — for  I  must  be  candid  at  all 
costs — there  are  a  few  factory  chimneys,  but  they  are 
too  distant  to  be  obtrusive. 

Such  is  my  picture  :  would  that  I  could  paint  it 
better.  Looking  upon  it  my  spirit  bathes  and  is 
refreshed. 


CHAPTER  V 

FARMER    BROWN    IS   PHOTOGRAPHED 

MY  studio  is  complete  at  last,  and  I  have 
already  had  one  customer,  not  counting 
Mother  Hubbard,  who  had  the  privilege  of 
performing  the  opening  ceremony,  and  who  was  my 
first  sitter.  I  insisted  upon  that,  all  the  more  because 
the  dear  old  soul  had  never  been  photographed  before 
in  her  life,  and  was  disposed  to  regard  the  transaction 
in  the  light  of  an  adventure. 

She  is  altogether  too  gentle  and  pliant  to  oppose 
her  will  to  mine  on  anything  less  important  than  a 
matter  of  principle,  but  I  could  see  that  she  was  griev- 
ously disappointed  when  I  would  not  let  her  put  on 
her  very  best  garment,  a  remarkable  black  satin  dress 
in  the  fashion  of  a  past  generation,  which  she  keeps  in 
lavender  and  tissue  paper  at  the  bottom  of  the  special 
drawer  which  is  full  of  memories  and  fading  grandeur. 

I  wanted  her  just  as  she  was,  with  the  shawl  loose 
upon  her  shoulders,  and  the  knitting-needles  in  her 
hand,  and  that  pleasant  expression  of  countenance 
which  makes  all  soulful  people  fall  in  love  with  her  at 
first  sight. 

I  succeeded  in  the  end,  and  the  delight  of  the  old 
lady  when  I  showed  her  a  rough  print  a  day  or  two 
later  was  good  to  see. 


BROWN  IS   PHOTOGRAPHED      43 

"  But  I  wish  you  could  have  taken  me  in  my  satin, 
love,  and  with  the  lace  collar.  Matthew  always  thought 
I  looked  nice  in  them." 

"  You  look  nice  in  anything,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  am 
sure  your  husband  thought  so ;  but  I  want  the  dear 
old  Mother  Hubbard  of  to-day ;  for,  do  you  know,  I  am 
going  to  send  you  to  a  big  News  Agency,  and  if  you  are 
accepted  you  and  I  will  make  holiday,  and  do  it  right 
royally." 

But  my  real  customer  arrived  on  the  second  Wed- 
nesday in  October.  My  board  had  been  in  position 
for  several  days,  and  had  attracted  a  good  deal  of 
curiosity  but  no  clients,  which  was  as  much  as  one  had 
a  right  to  expect.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  sitters 
would  be  rare,  but  I  had  my  own  plans  for  turning  the 
studio  to  profitable  use,  and  I  did  not  worry.  "  Every- 
thing comes  to  him  who  waits." 

I  was  busy  with  my  miniatures,  and  was  just  deciding 
to  lay  them  aside  for  a  time  and  do  a  little  re-touching 
on  Mother  Hubbard's  negatives,  when  I  happened  to 
glance  out  of  the  window,  and  saw  an  elderly  man 
stop  to  read  my  board.  He  stood  quite  a  long  time 
looking  at  it,  and  then  turned  in  at  the  gate. 

I  went  to  the  door  to  meet  him,  and  asked  if  he  would 
like  me  to  take  his  portrait,  and  he  replied  :  "  Ay,  if 
it  doesn't  cost  too  much,  I  should." 

I  led  the  way  into  the  studio  and  asked  him  to 
sit  down,  but  he  would  not  do  so  until  we  had 
discussed  terms.  I  soon  satisfied  him  on  this  point,  for, 
of  course,  high  charges  in  Windyridge  would  be 


44  WINDYRIDGE 

ridiculous,  and  then  I  inquired  how  he  would  like  to 
be  "taken." 

"  I  shan't  make  much  of  a  picter,  miss,"  he  said, 
"  but  there's  them  'at '11  like  to  look  at  my  face,  such 
as  it  is.  If  you  can  make  ought  o'  my  head  and 
shoulders  it'll  do  nicely." 

I  looked  at  him  as  I  made  my  preparations,  and  was 
puzzled.  He  was  a  tall  man,  somewhat  bent  and  grey, 
his  face  tanned  with  exposure  to  the  weather.  It  was 
clean  shaven,  and  there  was  character  in  the  set  of  his 
features — the  firm  mouth,  the  square  jaw,  and  the 
brown  eyes.  They  were  dreamy  eyes  just  now,  and  I 
wondered  why,  and  was  surprised  that  he  should  seem 
so  natural  and  free  from  constraint.  I  judged  him  to 
be  a  farmer  clad  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  but  why  he 
should  be  so  garbed  on  a  bright  afternoon  in  mid-week 
I  could  not  guess.  That  he  was  no  resident  in  the 
village  was  certain,  for  by  this  time  I  know  them  all ; 
or  rather  I  should  say  that  I  can  recognise  them  all — 
to  know  them  is  another  thing. 

He  gave  me  no  trouble,  except  that  I  had  some 
difficulty  in  driving  the  sad  look  away  from  his  eyes. 
It  went  at  last,  however,  though  only  momentarily,  yet 
in  that  moment  I  got  my  negative.  It  was  in  this  way. 

"  Cheer  up  !  "  I  said,  when  I  was  ready  for  the 
exposure.  "  Your  friends  would  think  me  a  poor 
photographer  if  I  should  send  them  home  such  a  sad- 
looking  portrait." 

"  Ay,  right  enough,"  he  agreed ;  "  that  'ud  never  do. 
But  I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  at  looking  lively." 


BROWN    IS  PHOTOGRAPHED      45 

"  I  want  to  do  you  justice  for  my  own  sake  as  well 
as  yours,"  I  said.  "  Now  if  7  wanted  to  have  a  pleasing 
expression  I  should  just  think  of  the  moors,  radiant 
in  gold,  and  the  cloud-shadows  playing  leap-frog  over 
them,  and  that  would  be  sufficient." 

"  Ay,  ay,  I  can  follow  that,"  he  said  ;  and  before 
the  glow  left  his  eyes  I  had  gained  my  point. 

"  Shall  I  post  the  proof  to  you  ?  "  I  asked.  He  did 
not  understand,  and  I  explained. 

"  No,  no,"  he  replied  ;  "if  you're  satisfied  'at  they'll 
do  it'll  be  right  to  me,  miss.  This  is  your  line,  not 
mine,  and  there's  nobody  at  our  end  'at  knows  ought 
much  about  photygraphs.  And  there's  one  thing 
more  'at  I  want  to  say,  only  I  hardly  know  how  to  say 
it.  But  it  comes  to  this  :  I  don't  want  you  to  send 
any  o' these  photygraphs  home  until  you  hear  from  Dr. 
Trempest.  When  he  lets  you  know,  just  send  'em  on, 
and  put  a  bit  of  a  note  in,  like,  to  say  'at  they're  paid 
for.  It'll  none  be  so  long — a  matter  o'  five  weeks, 
maybe." 

He  unbuttoned  a  capacious  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
bag  of  money,  from  which  he  carefully  counted  out 
the  amount  of  my  bill,  but  when  I  offered  him  a  re- 
ceipt he  declined  to  take  it. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  said,  "  I  want  nowt  o'  that  sort. 
I  can  trust  you  ;  but  you'll  have  'em  ready  when  t* 
time  comes,  won't  you  ?  " 

I  assured  him  confidently,  and  as  he  turned  to  leave 
I  expressed  the  hope  that  he  would  like  the  prints 
when  he  saw  them.  Then  it  all  came  out. 


46  WINDYRIDGE 

"  I  shall  never  see  'em.  I  shall  be  on  t'  moorside, 
with  t'  cloud-shadows  you  talk  about  playing  loup-frog 
aboon  me  by  then.  That's  why  I  wanted  t'  photy- 
graphs.  I  only  thought  on  't  when  I  passed  t'  board, 
but  there's  them  at  home  'at  '11  be  glad  to  have  'em 
when  I'm  gone." 

Tears  filled  my  eyes,  for  I  am  a  woman  as  well  as  a 
photographer,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  face  to  face  with  a 
tragedy. 

"  Cannot  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Believe 
me,  I  am  very  sorry.  Perhaps  I  could  help.  But 
please  don't  say  anything  if  you  would  rather  not." 

"  There's  not  much  to  tell,"  he  responded,  "  but 
what  there  is  '11  soon  be  all  round  t'  moorside.  You 
see,  I've  lived  at  yon  farm,  two  miles  off,  all  my  life, 
and  I'm  well  known,  and  folks  talk  a  good  deal  in  these 
country  places,  where  there  isn't  much  going  on. 

"  I  walked  into  Fawkshill  to  see  Dr.  Trempest  this 
morning,  and  he's  been  with  me  to  Airlee  to  see  a  big 
doctor  there — one  o'  these  consulting  men — and  he 
gives  me  a  month  or  happen  five  weeks  at  t'  outside. 
There's  nought  can  be  done.  Summat  growing  i'  t' 
inside  'at  can't  be  fairly  got  at,  and  we  shall  have  to 
make  t'  best  on  't.  But  it'll  be  a  sad  tale  for  t'  missus 
and  t'  lass,  and  telling  'em  is  a  job  I  don't  care  for. 

"  You  see,  we  none  of  us  thought  it  was  ought  much 
'at  ailed  me,  for  I've  always  been  a  worker,  and  I 
haven't  missed  many  meals  i'  five  and  fifty  year,  and 
it  comes  a  bit  sudden-like  at  t'  finish." 

What  could  I  say  ?     I  saw  it  all  and  felt  the  pity  of 


BROWN    IS   PHOTOGRAPHED      47 

it.  God  knows  I  would  have  helped  him  if  I  could. 
The  old  wave  of  emotion  which  used  to  sweep  over  me 
so  often  surged  forward  again  ;  and  again  I  was 
powerless  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy. 

I  said  something  of  this,  but  my  friend  shook  his 
head  in  protest. 

"  Nay,  but  I  don't  look  at  it  i'  that  way.  I'm  no 
preacher,  but  there's  One  above  'at  knows  better  than 
us,  and  I  wouldn't  like  to  think  'at  t'  Old  Enemy  'ad 
ought  to  do  wi'  it.  I've  always  been  one  to  work  wi' 
my  hands,  and  book-learning  hasn't  been  o'  much 
account  to  me,  but  there's  one  Book,  miss,  'at  I  have 
read  in,  and  it  says,  '  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O 
grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  Thanks  be  to  God  which 
giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  " 

I  sat  with  my  head  in  my  hands  for  a  long  time  after 
Fanner  Brown  had  left,  and  when  at  length  I  raised 
my  eyes  the  shadows  had  left  the  moor,  and  I  saw  that 
the  sun  would  set  in  a  clear  sky. 


CHAPTER  VI 

OVER   THE    MOOR    TO    ROMANTON 

WE  have  had  our  promised  holiday,  Mother 
Hubbard  and  I,  and  a  right  royal  one.    On 
those  rare  occasions  when  work  may  be 
laid  aside  and  hard-earned  coin  expended  upon  the 
gratification  of  the  senses,  our  younger  neighbours  turn 
their  steps  to  Airlee  or  Broadbeck,  and  seek  the  ex- 
citements of  the  picture  palace  or  the  music-hall ;  their 
elders  are  seldom  drawn  from  the  village  unless  to  the 
solemn  festivities  of  a  "  burying." 

We  spent  our  day  in  the  great  alfresco  palace  of 
Nature,  amid  pictures  of  God's  painting,  and  returned 
at  night,  tired  in  body,  but  with  heart  and  soul  and 
brain  refreshed  by  unseen  dews  of  heaven's  own 
distilling. 

Fortunately  we  have  had  a  spell  of  fine,  dry  weather, 
with  occasional  strong  winds — at  least,  they  were 
strong  to  me,  but  the  folk  about  here  dismiss  them 
contemptuously  as  "  a  bit  of  a  blow. ' '  Had  the  weather 
been  wet  Mother  Hubbard 's  cherished  desire  to  "  take 
me  across  the  moor  "  to  Romanton  would  have  had 
to  be  postponed  indefinitely. 

We  were  to  drive  as  far  as  "  Uncle  Ned's  "  in  Mr. 
Higgins'  market  cart,  Mr.  Higgins  having  volunteered 
to  "  give  us  a  lift,"  as  it  was  "  nowt  out  of  his  way." 


OVER   THE   MOOR  49 

We  started  early,  before  the  morning  mists  had  for- 
saken the  valleys,  and  whilst  night's  kindly  tears  still 
sparkled  on  the  face  of  the  meadows.  It  was  good  to 
lean  back,  my  hand  in  Mother  Hubbard's  and  my  feet 
resting  on  the  baskets  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart,  and 
drink  in  sight  and  sound  and  crisp  morning  air. 

What  a  peaceful  world  it  was  !  I  thought  for  a 
moment  of  the  mad  rush  of  petrol-driven  buses  along 
Holborn,  and  the  surging  tide  of  sombre  humanity 
which  filled  the  footpaths  there.  This  had  been  the 
familiar  moving  picture  of  my  morning  experience  for 
more  years  than  I  care  to  remember,  and  now — this. 

Beyond  the  meadows  and  the  shawl  of  mist  in  the 
valley,  a  long  stretch  of  gold  and  golden-brown  where 
gorse  and  bracken  company  together,  the  one  in  its 
vigorous  and  glowing  prime,  the  other  in  the  ruddy 
evening  of  its  days,  but  not  a  whit  less  resplendent. 

Overhead,  a  grey- blue  sky,  with  the  grey  just  now 
predominating,  but  a  sky  of  promise,  according  to  Mr. 
Higgins,  with  never  a  hint  of  breakdown.  By  and  by 
the  blue  was  to  conquer,  and  the  sportive  winds  were 
to  let  loose  and  drive  before  them  the  whitest  and 
fleeciest  of  clouds,  but  always  far  up  in  high  heaven. 

In  the  distance,  just  that  delightful  haze  which  the 
members  of  our  Photographic  Society  so  often  referred 
to  as  "  atmosphere  " — a  mighty  word,  full  of  mystic 
meaning. 

Here  and  there  we  pass  a  clump  of  trees,  heavily 
hung  with  bright  scarlet  berries,  whose  abundance, 
our  conductor  informs  us,  foretells  a  winter  of  unusual 


50  WINDYRIDGE 

severity.  "  That's  t'  way  Providence  provides  for  t' 
birds,"  he  says.  It  may  be  so,  though  I  daresay 
naturalists  would  offer  another  explanation.  All  the 
same,  it  is  pleasing  to  see  how  the  blackbirds  and 
thrushes  enjoy  the  feast,  though  they  have  already 
stripped  some  of  the  trees  bare,  and  to  that  extent 
have  spoiled  the  picture. 

Mr.  Higgins  was  not  disposed  to  leave  us  to  the 
uninterrupted  enjoyment  of  the  landscape.  He  is  a 
thick-set  little  man,  on  the  wrong  side  of  sixty,  I  should 
judge,  with  a  clean  top  lip  and  a  rather  heavy  beard  ; 
and  I  suspect  that  the  hair  upon  his  head  is  growing 
scanty,  but  that  is  a  suspicion  founded  upon  the 
flimsiest  of  evidence,  as  I  have  never  yet  seen  him  with- 
out the  old  brown  hat  which  does  service  Sundays  and 
weekdays  alike. 

He  jogged  along  by  the  side  of  the  steady  mare, 
who  never  varied  her  four-miles-an-hour  pace,  and  who, 
I  am  sure,  treated  her  master's  reiterated  injunction 
to  "  come  up  "  with  cool  contempt ;  but  he  fell  back 
occasionally  to  jerk  a  few  disjointed  remarks  towards 
the  occupants  of  the  cart. 

"  Fox,"  he  said,  inclining  his  head  vaguely  in  the 
direction  of  a  lonely  farm  away  on  the  hillside  to  the 
right.  "  Caught  him  yesterda'  .  .  .  been  playin'  Old 
'Any  wi'  t'  fowls  .  .  .  shot  him  .  .  .  good  riddance." 

We  made  no  comment  beyond  a  polite  and  inquiring 
"  Oh  ?  "  and  he  continued  to  be  communicative. 

"  Just  swore,  did  Jake  .  .  .  swore  an'  stamped 
about  .  .  but  t'  missus  .  .  now  there's  a  woman 


OVER  THE  MOOR  51 

for  you  .  .  .  she  played  Old  'Arry  wi'  him  ...  set 
a  trap  herself  .  .  .  caught  him." 

Mother  Hubbard  ventured  to  surmise  that  it  was 
the  fox  which  had  been  captured  and  not  the  husband, 
and  Mr.  Higgins  acquiesced. 

"  Nought  like  women  for  ...  settin'  traps,"  he 
continued,  with  a  chuckle,  shaking  his  head  slowly 
for  emphasis ;"  they're  all  alike  .  .  .  barrin' they  don't 
catch  foxes.  .  .  .  Man-traps  mostly  .  .  .  aye,  man- 
traps." 

"  That  is  just  like  Barjona,  love,"  Mother  Hubbard 
whispered  ;  "  he  has  never  a  good  word  for  the  women." 

"  You  have  managed  to  evade  them  so  far,  Mr. 
Higgins  ?  "  I  suggested  meekly. 

"  Nay  .  .  .  bad  job  .  .  .  bad  job  .  .  .  been  as  big 
a  fool  as  most  .  .  .  dead  this  many  a  year  .  .  .  dead 
an'  buried  twenty  year  .  .  .  wide  awake  now  .  .  . 
old  fox  now  ...  no  traps  .  .  .  no,  no,  no  !  " 

He  strode  forward  to  the  mare's  side  again,  but  I 
saw  him  wagging  his  head  for  many  a  minute  as  he 
chewed  the  cud  of  his  reflections.  Meanwhile  Mother 
Hubbard,  with  some  hesitation  and  many  an  appre- 
hensive look  ahead,  told  me  something  of  his  story. 

"  His  mother  was  a  very  religious  woman,  love,  but 
she  was  no  scholar,  though  she  knew  her  Bible  well. 
And  you  know,  love,  the  best  of  people  have  generally 
their  little  fads  and  failings,  and  she  would  call  all 
her  boys  after  the  twelve  Apostles.  At  least,  love, 
you  understand,  she  had  four  sons — not  twelve — but 
she  called  the  first  John  because  he  was  the  beloved 


52  WINDYRIDGE 

disciple,  and  the  next  James  because  he  was  John's 
brother.  Then  came  Andrew  and  afterwards  Simon 
Barjona.  They  do  say — but  you  know,  love,  how 
people  talk — that  she  would  have  liked  eleven  boys, 
missing  out  Judas  because  he  was  a  thief  and  betrayed 
his  Master,  but  she  had  only  nine  children,  and  five 
of  them  were  girls. 

"  I  have  heard  my  husband  say,  love,  that  when  they 
came  to  christen  the  youngest  boy  the  minister  was 
quite  angry,  and  would  not  have  the  '  Barjona,'  but 
the  mother  was  much  bent  on  it,  and  would  not  sub- 
stitute Peter,  which  was  what  the  parson  suggested. 
Anyhow,  she  registered  him  in  his  full  name." 

"  Which  name  was  he  called  by  ?  "   I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  Barjona,  love,  always.  And  behind  his  back 
he  is  Barjona  yet,  though  he  likes  to  be  called  Mr. 
Higgins.  But  you  may  give  a  man  a  good  name  when 
you  cannot  give  him  a  good  nature,  and  he  might  as 
well  have  been  christened  Buonaparte  for  all  it  has 
done  for  him.  Oh  yes,  love,  he  is  close-fisted,  is  Bar- 
jona, and  it  is  said  that  his  wife  was  so  tired  of  his 
nagging  ways  that  she  was  quite  pleased  to  go.  I'm 
sure  I  thank  the  Lord  that  I  am  not  Mrs.  Higgins, 
though  they  do  say  in  the  village  that  Widow  Robert- 
shaw  would  have  had  him  this  many  a  year  back." 

"  But  he  is  an  old  fox  now,"  I  remarked,  "  and 
avoids  the  trap." 

It  lacked  still  a  couple  of  hours  of  noon  when  Mr. 
Higgins  deposited  us  at  Uncle  Ned's  lonely  hostelry, 
and  drove  off  in  the  company  of  the  tired  mare  and  his 


OVER  THE  MOOR  53 

own  complacent  thoughts.  Ten  minutes  later  I  had 
completely  forgotten  his  existence  in  the  joy  of  a  new 
experience. 

I  was  there  at  last  !  The  moors  of  which  I  had 
dreamed  so  long  were  a  conscious  reality.  Before  me, 
and  on  either  hand,  they  stretched  until  they  touched 
the  grey  of  the  sky.  The  glory  of  the  heather  was 
gone,  though  sufficient  colour  lingered  in  the  faded 
little  bells  to  give  a  warm  glow  to  the  landscape,  and 
to  hint  of  former  splendour.  My  heart  ached  a  wee 
bit  to  think  that  I  had  come  so  late,  but  why  should 
I  grudge  Nature's  silent  children  their  hour  of  rest  ? 
The  morning  will  come  when  they  will  again  fling  aside 
the  garb  of  night  and  deck  themselves  in  purple. 
Besides,  there  was  the  gorse,  regal  amid  the  sombre 
browns  and  olives  and  neutral  tints  of  the  vegetation  ; 
and  there  were  green  little  pools  and  treacherous-look- 
ing bogs,  and  the  uneven,  stony  pathway  which  made 
a  thin,  grey  dividing  line  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 
What  more  could  the  heart  of  man  desire  ? 

How  sweet  the  breath  of  the  air  was  as  it  covered 
my  cheeks  with  its  caresses  !  I  tasted  the  fragrance  of 
it,  and  it  gave  buoyancy  to  my  body,  and  the  wings  of 
a  dove  to  my  soul.  I  flew  back  down  the  years  to  the 
dingy  sitting-room  which  held  my  sacred  memories, 
and  saw  dear  old  dad  painting  his  moorland  pictures 
in  the  glowing  embers  on  the  hearth  ;  and  I  flew  up- 
wards to  the  realms  which  eye  hath  not  seen,  and  was 
glad  to  remember  that  the  moors  are  not  included 
amongst  the  things  that  are  not  to  be. 


54  WINDYRIDGE 

Then,  characteristically,  my  mood  changed.  The 
sense  of  desolation  got  hold  of  me.  I  looked  for  sound 
of  throbbing  life  and  found  none  :  only  tokens  of  a 
great,  an  irresistible  Power.  It  may  seem  strange, 
but  in  the  silence  of  that  vast  wilderness  I  felt,  as  I 
had  never  felt  before,  that  there  must  be  a  God,  and 
that  He  must  be  all-powerful.  I  have  not  tried  to 
analyse  the  emotion,  but  I  know  my  heart  began  to 
beat  as  though  I  were  in  the  presence  of  Majesty,  and 
a  great  awe  brooded  over  my  spirit. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  fluttering  of  wings  in  the 
tangled  undergrowth  a  few  yards  away,  and  as  my  soul 
came  back  to  earth  I  saw  a  hawk  swoop  down  and  seize 
its  prey,  and  then  I  choked.  "  If  I  take  the  wings  of 
the  morning  and  fly  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  cannot  escape  the  tragedy 
of  life  and  death — the  mystery  of  suffering." 

Mother  Hubbard  put  an  arm  around  my  waist  and 
looked  questioningly  into  my  eyes,  her  own  being 
bright  with  tears.  I  put  my  hands  upon  her  cheeks 
and  kissed  her. 

"  Grace  Holden  is  a  goose,"  I  said.  "  How  many 
hours  have  I  been  standing  still  or  floating  about  in 
vacancy  ?  I  believe  my  dear  old  Mother  Hubbard 
thought  her  companion  had  flown  away  and  left  only 
her  chrysalis  behind  !  " 

We  moved  on,  and  my  spirits  came  out  with  the 
sun  and  the  blue  sky.  After  all,  I  fear  I  am  an 
emotional  creature,  for  I  am  my  father's  daughter,  but 
I  think  my  mother  must  have  been  a  very  practical 


OVER  THE   MOOR  55 

woman,  and  bequeathed  to  me  somewhat  of  the  counter- 
poise, because  on  the  whole  I  am  sure  I  have  more 
common  sense  than  dreaminess. 

We  had  the  moor  pretty  much  to  ourselves  except 
for  the  game,  which  we  rarely  saw,  and  the  snipe 
which  frequented  the  swamps.  The  one  outstanding 
recollection  of  the  remainder  of  our  two  hours'  tramp 
is  of  a  young  couple  (of  human  beings,  not  snipe)  who 
came  sauntering  along,  sucking  oranges  and  throwing 
the  peel  on  the  heath.  It  seemed  like  sacrilege,  and  I 
went  hot  with  indignation. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  could  swear  and  stamp  around,  like 
the  ineffective  Jake,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  love,"  said  Mother  Hubbard,  but  I  doubt  if 
she  understood. 

Mother  Hubbard  was  in  excellent  trim,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  there  must  be  a  good  deal  of 
reserve  force  in  her  delicate-looking  little  body.  She 
led  me  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  whence  one  gets  an  un- 
expected view  of  the  enchanting  beauty  of  the  Roman- 
ton  valley,  and  said  "  There  !  "  with  such  an  air  of 
proud  proprietorship,  as  if  she  had  ordered  the  show 
for  my  special  gratification,  that  I  laughed  outright. 

I  negotiated  the  steep  downward  path  with  diffi- 
culty, but  she  went  steadily  on  with  the  assurance  of 
familiarity,  pausing  at  intervals  to  point  out  the  more 
notable  landmarks. 

We  had  lunch  at  one  of  the  large  hotels,  and  if  Rose 
had  seen  the  spread  I  ordered  she  would  have  had 
good  cause  to  charge  me  with  "  swankiness,"  but  I 


56  WINDYRIDGE 

was  having  a  "  day  out,"  and  such  occurrences  at 
Windyridge  are  destined  to  be  uncommon.  Besides, 
no  fewer  than  three  magazines  are  going  to  print  my 
old  lady's  picture,  so  the  agents  have  sent  me  thirty 
shillings — quite  a  decent  sum,  and  one  which  you 
simply  cannot  spend  on  a  day's  frolicking  in  these 
regions. 

When  it  was  over  Mother  Hubbard  showed  me  all 
the  lions  of  the  place  ;  and  after  we  had  drunk  a 
refreshing  cup  of  tea  at  a  cafe  that  would  do  no  dis- 
credit to  Buckingham  Palace  Road  we  set  out  on  the 
return  journey. 

I  was  tired  already,  but  I  soon  forgot  the  flesh  in 
the  spirit  sensations  that  flooded  me.  We  were  now 
traversing  the  miniature  high  road  which  skirts  the 
edge  of  the  moor,  and  reveals  a  scene  of  quiet  pastoral 
beauty  along  its  entire  length  which  is  simply  charming. 
I  cannot  adequately  describe  it,  but  I  know  that  viewed 
in  the  opalescent  light  of  the  early  setting  sun  it  was 
just  a  fairy  wonderland. 

The  valley  is  beautifully  wooded,  and  Solomon  and 
the  Queen  of  Sheba  together  were  not  so  gorgeously 
arrayed  as  were  the  trees  on  the  farther  side.  A  white 
thread  of  river  gleamed  for  a  while  through  the 
meadows,  but  was  soon  lost  in  the  haze  of  evening. 

Comfortable  grey  farms  and  red-tiled  villas  lent  a 
homely  jlook  to  the  landscape,  and  at  intervals  we 
passed  pretty  cottages  with  old-fashioned  gardens, 
where  the  men  smoked  pipes  and  stood  about  in  their 
shirt-sleeves,  whilst  the  women  lounged  in  the  gateways 


OVER  THE   MOOR  57 

with  an  eye  to  the  children  whose  bed-time  was  come 
all  too  soon  for  the  unwilling  spirit. 

And,  best  of  all,  my  journey  ended  with  a  great  dis- 
covery. We  had  climbed  a  steep  hill,  and  after  a  last 
long  look  back  over  my  fairy  valley  I  set  my  face  to 
the  dull  and  level  fields.  Two  hundred  yards  farther 
and  my  astonished  eyes  saw  down  below — the  back  of 
my  own  cottage  ! 

That  night  no  vision  of  factory  chimneys  disturbed 
the  serenity  of  my  sleep,  for  a  haunting  fear  had  been 
dispelled. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    CYNIC    DISCOURSES   ON    WOMAN 


w 


(  ( "\  HT  T OMAN,"  said  the  Cynic  sententiously, 
"  may  be  divided  into  five  parts  :  the 
Domestic  woman,  the  Social  woman, 
the  Woman  with  a  Mission,  the  New  Woman,  and 
the  Widow." 

"  Nonsense !  "  snapped  the  vicar's  wife,  "  the  widow 
may  be  any  one  of  the  rest.  The  mere  accident  of 
widowhood  cannot  affect  her  special  characteristics. 
The  worst  of  you  smart  men  is  that  you  entirely  divorce 
verity  from  vivacity.  The  domestic  woman  is  still 
a  domestic  woman,  though  she  become  a  widow." 

"No,"  returned  the  Cynic,  "  the  widow  is  a  thing 
apart,  if  I  may  so  designate  any  of  your  captivating 
sex.  Domestic  she  may  still  be  in  a  certain  or  uncertain 
subordinate  sense,  just  as  the  social  woman  or  the 
woman  with  a  mission  may  have  a  strain  of  domesticity 
in  her  make-up ;  but  when  all  has  been  said  she  is  still 
in  a  separate  class  ;  she  is,  in  fact — a  widow." 

"  I  remember  reading  somewhere,"  I  remarked, 
"  that  a  little  widow  is  a  dangerous  thing.  Manifestly 
the  author  of  that  brilliant  epigram  was  of  your  way 
of  thinking.  He  would  probably  have  classed  her  as 
an  explosive." 

He  turned  to  me  and  smiled  mockingly. 


THE   CYNIC   ON  WOMAN          59 

"  I  think  all  men  who  have  seriously  studied  the 
subject,  as  I  have,  must  have  formed  a  similar  opinion. 
The  widow  is  dangerous  because  she  is  a  widow.  She 
has  tasted  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 
She  knows  the  weak  places  in  man's  defensive  armour. 
She  has  acquired  skill  in  generalship  which  enables  her 
to  win  her  battles.  Added  to  all  this  is  the  pathos  of 
her  position,  which  is  an  asset  of  no  inconsiderable 
value.  She  knows  to  a  tick  of  time  when  to  allure 
by  smiles  and  melt  by  tears,  and  woe  to  the  man 
who  thinketh  he  standeth  when  she  proposes  his  down- 
fall." 

"  My  dear  Derwent,"  interposed  the  squire  from  the 
other  side  the  hearth ;  "  you  speak,  no  doubt,  from  a  ripe 
experience,  if  an  outside  one,  and  no  one  here  will  ques- 
tion your  authority ;  but  surely  the  new  woman  and 
the  woman  with  a  mission  may  be  bracketed  together." 

The  squire  was  leaning  back  in  a  comfortable  saddle- 
bag, one  leg  thrown  easily  over  the  other  and  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head.  A  tolerant  half-smile  hung 
about  the  corners  of  his  lips  and  lurked  in  the  shadows 
of  his  eyes.  He  has  a  grand  face,  and  it  shows  to  per- 
fection on  an  occasion  like  this. 

The  vicar  sat  near  him.  He  is  a  spare,  rather  cada- 
verous man,  who  lives  among  Egyptian  mummies  and 
Assyrian  tablets  and  palimpsests  and  first  editions, 
and  knows  nothing  of  any  statesman  later  than 
Cardinal  Wolsey.  An  open  book  of  antiquities  lay 
upon  his  knee,  and  his  finger-tips  were  pressed  together 
upon  it,  but  the  eyes  which  blinked  over  the  top  of  his 


60  WINDYRIDGE 

gold-rimmed  spectacles  were  fixed  upon  space,  and  the 
Cynic's  vapourings  were  as  unheeded  as  yesterday. 

The  vicar's  wife  is  the  very  antithesis  of  her  husband. 
She  is  a  plump,  round-faced  little  body,  and  was  tidily 
dressed  in  a  black  silk  of  quite  modern  style  with  just 
a  trace  of  elegance,  and  a  berthe  of  fine  old  lace  which 
made  me  break  the  tenth  commandment  every  time 
I  looked  at  her.  She  was  evidently  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  herself,  and  stood  in  no  awe  of  anybody, 
and  least  of  all  of  the  Cynic,  whom  she  regarded  with 
a  half-affectionate,  half-contemptuous  air.  She  had 
a  way  of  tossing  her  head  and  pursing  her  lips  when  he 
was  more  than  usually  aggressive  that  obviously 
amused  him.  I  had  soon  found  out  that  they  were  old 
antagonists. 

The  Cynic  himself  puzzled  me.  I  scarcely  dared  to 
look  at  him  very  closely,  for  I  had  the  feeling  that  none 
of  my  movements  escaped  his  notice,  and  I  had  not  been 
able  to  decide  whether  his  age  was  thirty  or  fifty.  He 
is  of  average  height  and  build,  and  was  somewhat  care- 
lessly dressed,  I  thought.  His  dinner  jacket  seemed 
rather  loose,  and  his  starched  shirt  was  decidedly 
crumpled.  I  wondered  who  looked  after  his  menage. 

His  hands  are  clean  and  shapely,  and  he  knows  where 
to  put  them,  which  is  generally  an  indication  of  good 
breeding  and  always  of  a  lack  of  self-consciousness, 
and  from  their  condition  I  judged  that  he  earned  his 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  his  brain  rather  than  of  his  brow. 

As  to  his  face — well,  I  liked  it.  It  is  dark,  but  frank 
and  open,  and  he  has  a  good  mouth,  which  can  be  seen, 


THE  CYNIC  ON  WOMAN  61 
because  he  is  clean  shaven,  and  his  teeth  are  also  good. 
But  then  in  these  degenerate  days  anyone  who  has 
attained  middle  life  may  have  good  teeth  :  it  is  all  a 
matter  of  money. 

I  think  it  is  the  eyes  that  make  the  face,  however. 
They  are  deep  grey  and  remarkably  luminous,  and  on 
this  occasion  they  simply  bubbled  over  with  mis- 
chievousness.  His  smile  was  never  very  pronounced, 
and  always  more  or  less  satirical,  but  his  eyes  flashed 
and  sparkled  when  he  was  roused,  though  they  had 
looked  kindly  and  even  plaintive  when  he  arrived,  and 
before  he  was  warmed.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  who  can 
do  all  his  talking  with  his  eyes. 

A  high  forehead  is  surmounted  by  a  mass  of 
hair — once  black,  but  rapidly  turning  grey — which  he 
evidently  treats  as  of  no  importance,  for  it  lies,  as 
the  children  say,  "  anyhow."  But  how  old  he  is — I 
give  it  up. 

He  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair  now,  with  a 
quick  involuntary  movement,  as  he  turned  to  the 
squire. 

"  You  may  bracket  the  new  woman  and  the  woman 
with  a  mission  together,  but  you  can  never  make  them 
one.  That  they  have  some  things  in  common  is  nothing 
to  the  point.  The  new  woman,  as  I  understand  her, 
has  no  mission,  not  even  a  commission.  The  new 
woman  is  Protest,  embodied  and  at  present  skirted, 
but  with  a  protest  against  the  skirt.  Her  most  longed- 
for  goal  is  the  Unattainable,  and  if  by  some  chance 
she  should  reach  it  she  would  be  dismayed  and  annoyed. 


62  WINDYRIDGE 

Meantime,  with  the  vision  before  her  eyes  of  the  table 
of  the  gods,  she  cries  aloud  that  she  is  forced  to  feed 
on  husks,  and  as  she  must  hug  something,  hugs  a 
grievance." 

"  Philip  Derwent,"  interposed  the  vicar's  wife,  "  you 
are  in  danger  of  becoming  vulgar." 

"  Vulgarity,  madam,"  he  rejoined,  "  is  in  these  days 
the  brand  of  refinement.  It  is  only  your  truly  refined 
man  who  has  the  courage  to  be  vulgar  in  polite  society. 
No  other  dares  to  call  a  spade  a  spade  or  a  lie  a  lie. 
Those  who  wish  to  be  considered  refined  speak  of 
the  one  as  an  '  agricultural  implement  '  and  of  the 
other  as  a  'terminological  inexactitude.'  But  to 
return  to  our  sheep  who  are  clamouring  for  wolves' 
clothing " 

"  Really,  Philip !  "  protested  the  vicar's  wife 
pursing  her  lips  more  emphatically  than  ever. 

"  The  latest  incarnation  of  Protest,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  takes  the  form  of  a  demand  for  the  suffrage, 
and  is  accompanied  by  much  beating  of  drums 
and " 

"  Smashing  of  windows,"  I  ventured. 

He  bowed.  "And  smashing  of  windows.  By  and 
by  they  will  get  their  desire." 

"  And  so  have  fulfilled  their  mission,"  the  squire 
smiled. 

"  By  no  means  ;  they  have  no  mission  ;  they  have 
simply  a  hunger,  or  rather  a  pain  which  goes  away 
when  their  appetite  is  stayed,  and  comes  on  again 
before  the  meal  has  been  well  digested.  Then  they  go 


THE  CYNIC  ON  WOMAN  63 
forth  once  more  seeking  whom  or  what  they  may 
devour." 

"  Tell  us  of  the  woman  with  a  mission,"  I  pleaded. 

"  Miss  Holden  is  anxious  to  discover  in  what  category 
she  is  to  be  classed,"  laughed  the  squire.  "  You  are 
treading  on  dangerous  ground,  Derwent.  Let  me 
advise  you  to  proceed  warily." 

"  Mr.  Evans,  when  a  boy  at  school  I  learned  the 
Latin  maxim — '  Truth  is  often  attended  with  danger,' 
but  I  am  sure  Miss  Holden  will  be  merciful  towards  its 
humble  votary." 

I  smiled  and  he  continued  :  "  The  woman  with  a 
mission,  Miss  Holden,  is  an  altogether  superior  crea- 
ture. She  may  be  adorable  ;  on  the  other  hand  she 
may  be  a  nuisance  and  a  bore.  Everything  depends 
on  the  mission — and  the  woman." 

"  A  safe  answer,  Philip,"  sneered  the  vicar's  wife, 
and  the  squire  smiled. 

"There  is  no  other  safe  way,  madam,  than  the  way  of 
Truth,  and  I  am  treading  it  now.  Even  if  the  woman 
be  a  nuisance,  even  if  the  mission  be  unworthy,  she 
who  makes  it  hers  may  be  ennobled.  Let  us  assume 
that  she  believes  with  all  her  heart  that  she  has  been 
sent  into  the  world  for  one  definite  purpose — shall  we 
say  to  work  for  the  abatement  of  the  smoke  nuisance  ? 
That  involves,  amongst  other  things " 

"  Depriving  poor  weak  man  of  his  chief  solace — 
tobacco,"  snapped  the  vicar's  wife. 

"  Exactly.  Now  see  how  this  strengthens  her 
character  and  calls  out  qualities  of  endurance  and 


64  WINDYRIDGE 
self-sacrifice.  The  poor  weak  man,  her  husband, 
deprived  of  his  chief  solace,  tobacco,  turns  to  pepper- 
mints, moroseness  and  bad  language.  His  courtesy 
is  changed  to  boorishness  :  his  placidity  to  snappish- 
ness.  All  this  is  trying  to  his  wife,  but  being  a  woman 
with  a  mission  she  regards  these  things  philosophically 
as  incidental  to  a  transition  period,  and  she  bears  her 
cross  with  ever-increasing  gentleness  and " 

"  Drives  her  husband  to  the  devil  and  herself  into 
the  widows'  compartment,"  interrupted  the  vicar's 
wife,  with  disgust  in  her  voice ;  "  Miss  Holden,  do  you 
sing  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  music,"  I  replied,  "  but  may  I  '  say  a 
piece  '  instead,  as  the  village  children  put  it  ?  "  I 
turned  to  the  Cynic  and  made  him  a  mock  curtsey : 

"  Small  blame  is  ours 
For  this  unsexing  of  ourselves,  and  worse 
Effeminising  of  the  male.     We  were 
Content,  sir,  till  you  starved  us,  heart  and  brain. 
All  we  have  done,  or  wise  or  otherwise 
Traced  to  the  root  was  done  for  love  of  you. 
Let  us  taboo  all  vain  comparisons, 
And  go  forth  as  God  meant  us,  hand  in  hand, 
Companions,  mates  and  comrades  evermore  ; 
Two  parts  of  one  divinely  ordained  whole." 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  the  squire,  and  the  vicar  murmured, 
"  Thank  you,"  very  politely.  The  Cynic  laughed  and 
rose  from  his  chair. 

"  I  will  take  it  lying  down,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Evans, 
may  I  look  in  the  cabinet  and  see  if  there  is  anything 
Miss  Holden  can  sing  ?  " 

I  had  to  do  it,  because  the  cabinet  contained  all  the 
Scotch  songs  I  love  so  well.  I  was  my  own  accom- 


THE   CYNIC  ON   WOMAN          65 

panist,  faute  de  mieux,  but  the  Cynic  turned  the  leaves, 
and  contributed  a  couple  of  songs  himself.  He  talks 
better  than  he  sings.  The  squire  wanted  us  to  try  a 
duet,  and  the  vicar's  wife  was  also  very  pressing,  but 
one  has  to  draw  the  line  somewhere.  The  only  pieces 
we  both  knew  were  so  sentimental  that  my  sense  of 
humour  would  have  tripped  me  up,  I  know,  and  I 
should  have  come  a  cropper. 

Just  as  coffee  was  brought  in  the  squire  asked  me  if 
I  would  sing  for  him,  "  Oh  wert  thou  in  the  cauld 
blast."  I  saw  he  really  wanted  it,  so  I  found  the 
music,  though  I  had  to  choke  back  the  lump  in  my 
throat.  I  had  never  sung  it  since  that  memorable 
evening  when  we  sat  together — dad  and  I — on  the  eve 
of  his  death,  and  he  had  begged  for  it  with  his  eyes. 
"  I  know,  dad,  dear,"  I  said  ;  "  I  must  close  with  your 
favourite,"  and  he  whispered,  "  For  the  last  time, 
lassie."  And  so  it  had  been. 

The  tears  fell  as  I  sang,  and  the  Hall  and  its 
inmates  faded  from  my  view.  The  Cynic  must  have 
left  my  side,  for  when  at  length  I  ventured  to  look 
round  he  was  across  the  room  examining  a  curio.  But 
the  squire  rose  and  thanked  me  in  a  very  low  voice, 
and  his  own  eyes  were  bright  with  tears  that  did  not 
fall. 

Soon  after,  the  vicar's  carriage  came,  and  the 
Cynic  accepted  the  offer  of  a  lift  to  the  cross-roads.  I 
left  at  the  same  time,  but  the  squire  insisted  on 
accompanying  me.  Under  cover  of  the  darkness  he 

remarked : 

F 


66  WINDYRIDGE 

"  That  was  my  wife's  song.  It  gave  me  much 
pleasure  and  some  pain  to  hear  it  again ;  but  it  hurt 
you  ?  " 

I  told  him  why,  and  he  said  quite  simply,  "  Then  we 
have  another  bond  in  common." 

"  Another  ?  "  I  inquired,  but  he  did  not  explain  ; 
instead  he  asked : 

"  How  fares  your  ideal  ?  Have  you  met  him  of  the 
cloven  foot  in  Windyridge  yet  ?  " 

"  I  fear  I  brought  him  with  me,"  I  replied,  "  and  I 
fancy  I  have  seen  his  footprints  in  the  village.  All  the 
same,  I  do  not  yet  regret  my  decision.  I  am  very 
happy  here  and  have  forgotten  some  of  my  London 
nightmares,  and  am  no  longer  '  tossed  by  storm 
and  flood.'  My  Inner  Self  and  I  are  on  the  best  of 
terms." 

He  sighed.  "  Far  be  it  from  me  to  discourage  you ; 
and  indeed  I  am  glad  that  the  moors  have  brought 
you  peace.  To  brood  over  wrongs  we  cannot  put 
right  is  morbid  and  unhealthy ;  it  saps  our  vitality 
and  makes  us  unfit  for  the  conflicts  we  have  to  wage. 
And  yet  how  easy  it  is  for  us  to  let  this  consideration 
lead  us  to  the  bypath  meadows  of  indifference  and 
self-indulgence.  You  remember  Tennyson  : 

"  '  Is  it  well  that  while  we  range  with  Science,  glorying  in  the  Time, 
City  children  soak  and  blacken  soul  and  sense  in  city  slime  ? ' 

"  I  have  led  a  strenuous  life,  and  taken  some  part  in 
the  battle,  but  now  I  have  degenerated  into  a  Lotus- 
eater,  with  no  heart  for  the  fray,  '  Lame  and  old  and 
past  my  time,  and  passing  now  into  the  night.'  " 


THE   CYNIC   ON   WOMAN          67 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  let  me  quote  Clough  in  answer  to 
your  Tennyson  : 

"  '  Say  not  the  struggle  nought  availeth, 

The  labour  and  the  wounds  are  vain, 
The  enemy  faints  not  nor  faileth, 
And  as  things  have  been  they  remain. 

'  For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 

Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 
Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 
Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main.' 

"  You  are  no  Lotus-eater  :  no  shirker.  You  are 
just  resting  in  the  garden  in  the  evening  of  a  well- 
spent  day,  and  that  is  right." 

"  For  me  there  is  no  rest,"  he  replied.  "  To-morrow 
I  go  to  Biarritz,  and  thence  wherever  my  fancy  or  my 
doctor's  instructions  send  me  ;  but  I  shall  carry  with 
me  the  burdens  of  the  village.  It  is  selfish  of  me  to 
tell  you  this,  for  I  would  not  make  you  sad,  but  I  am 
a  lonely  man,  and  I  am  going  away  alone,  and  somewhat 
against  my  will,  but  Trempest  insists. 

"  I  think  it  has  done  me  good  to  unburden  myself 
to  you,  and  I  will  say  only  this  one  word  more.  Always, 
when  I  return,  there  has  been  some  tragedy,  great  or 
small,  which  I  think  I  might  have  hindered." 

"  Surely  not,"  I  murmured,  "in  so  small  a  place." 

He  rested  his  arm  upon  my  garden  gate  and  smiled. 
"  A  week  ago  I  witnessed  a  terrible  encounter  between 
two  redbreasts  in  the  lane  yonder.  They  are  very 
tenacious  of  their  rights,  and  one  of  them,  I  imagine, 
was  a  trespasser  from  the  other  side  the  hedge.  They 
are  country  birds,  yet  very  pugnacious,  and  the  little 
breasts  of  these  two  throbbed  with  passion.  But 


68  WINDYRIDGE 

when  I  came  near  them  they  flew  away,  and  I  hope 
forgot  their  differences.  I  never  even  raised  a  stick — 
my  mere  presence  was  sufficient.  And  therein  is  a 
parable.  Good-night,  Miss  Holden,  and  au  revoir  !  " 
He  opened  the  gate,  raised  his  hat,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CHRISTMAS    DAY   AT   WINDYRIDGE 

CHRISTMAS  has  come  and  gone,  and  so  far  not 
a  flake  of  snow  has  fallen.  Rain  there  has 
been  in  abundance,  and  in  the  distance  dense 
banks  of  fog,  but  no  frost  to  speak  of,  and  none  of 
the  atmospheric  conditions  I  have  always  associated 
with  a  northern  Yuletide. 

Christmas  Day  itself,  however,  proved  enjoyable  if 
not  wildly  exciting.  The  air  was  "  soft,"  as  the 
natives  say,  and  the  sun  was  shining  mistily  when  I 
stepped  into  the  garden,  now  bare  of  attractions  save 
for  the  Christmas  roses,  whose  pure  white  petals  bowed 
their  heads  in  kindly  greeting  to  the  wrinkled  face  of 
Earth,  their  mother.  The  starlings  were  whistling  as 
cheerily  as  if  spring  was  come,  and  a  solitary  missel- 
thrush  was  diligently  practising  a  Christmas  ditty  on 
the  bare  branches  of  the  hawthorn. 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  Mother  Hubbard !  "  I  called 
through  the  open  window,  with  such  unwonted  vigour 
that  the  old  lady,  whose  toilet  was  not  completed, 
flung  a  shawl  hastily  around  her  shoulders,  only  to  be 
reassured  by  my  hearty  laugh. 

Over  the  breakfast  table  we  drew  up  the  day's  pro- 
gramme. It  was  no  difficult  task.  Mother  Hubbard 
would  occupy  the  morning  in  preparing  the  great  dinner, 


70  WINDYRIDGE 

and  from  these  preparations  I  was  to  be  rigorously 
excluded.  To  my  old  friend  this  was  a  holy-day,  but 
one  to  be  marked  by  a  sacrificial  offering  of  exceptional 
magnitude,  she  being  the  High  Priestess  who  alone 
might  enter  into  the  mysteries  ;  but  I  did  not  mind, 
seeing  that  I  was  to  be  allowed  to  do  my  part  in  con- 
suming the  sacrifice. 

The  afternoon  was  to  be  devoted  to  rest,  and  in  the 
evening  we  were  to  go  to  Farmer  Goodenough's,  where 
the  youngsters  were  already  wild  in  anticipation  of  the 
glories  of  a  Christmas-tree. 

So  I  was  dismissed  to  "  make  the  beds  "  and  dust 
my  own  room,  and  having  done  this  I  went  to  church 
in  the  temple  which  is  not  made  with  hands.  I  had 
intended  going  to  Fawkshill,  but  the  angels  of  God  met 
me  on  the  way,  and  turned  me  aside  into  the  fields 
which  lead  to  Marsland.  When  I  reached  the  wood 
I  knelt  on  the  soft,  thick  carpet  of  fallen  leaves  and  said 
my  prayers  amid  the  solitude,  with  the  running  brook 
for  music  and  all  Nature  for  priest. 

What  a  loud  voice  Nature  has  to  those  who  have 
ears  to  hear,  yet  withal  how  sweet  and  forceful.  They 
tell  us  that  if  our  faculties  were  less  dull  we  should 
hear  in  every  stem  and  twig  and  blade  of  grass  the 
throbbing  of  the  engines  and  the  whir  and  clatter  of 
the  looms  which  go  on  day  and  night  unceasingly.  It 
is  well  for  us  that  we  are  not  so  highly  tuned,  but  it  is 
also  well  if  our  spiritual  perceptions  are  keen  enough 
to  find  tongues  in  trees  and  sermons  in  stones,  and  to 
interpret  their  language.  I  am  but  a  dunce  as  yet, 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  AT  WINDYRTDGE  71 

but  I  have  learned  one  thing  since  I  came  to  this 
northern  school — I  have  learned  to  listen,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  understand  something  of  what  Godjias 
to  teach  us  by  the  mouth  of  his  dumb  prophets.  Any- 
how, I  went  home  with  peace  in  my  heart  and  goodwill 
to  all  men  ;  also  with  a  mighty  hunger. 

The  menu  was  roast  turkey  and  plum  pudding,  to 
be  followed  by  cheese  and  dessert,  but  on  this  occasion 
there  was  no  "  following."  Imagine  two  domesticated 
women,  and  one  of  them — the  little  one — with  the 
appetite  and  capacity  of  a  pet  canary,  seated  opposite 
a  bird  like  that  the  squire  had  sent  us,  which  had 
meat  enough  upon  it  to  serve  a  Polytechnic  party  ; 
and  imagine  the  same  couple,  having  done  their  duty 
womanfully  upon  the  bird,  confronted  with  a  plum 
pudding  of  the  dimensions  Mother  Hubbard's  sense  of 
proportion  had  judged  necessary,  and  one  of  the  twain 
compelled  either  to  eat  to  repletion  or  to  wound  the 
feelings  of  the  pudding's  author — and  then  say  whether 
in  your  opinion  cheese  and  dessert  were  not  works  of 
supererogation  ! 

After  we  had  cleared  the  things  away  and  drawn  our 
rocking  chairs  up  to  the  fire,  the  old  clock  ticked  us 
off  to  sleep  in  five  minutes  ;  and  then  that  part  of  me 
which  it  is  not  polite  to  mention  took  its  revenge  for 
having  been  made  to  work  overtime  on  a  holiday.  I 
dreamed  ! 

I  was  running  away  from  Chelsea  in  the  dead  of 
night,  clothed  in  my  night-dress  and  holding  my  bed- 
room slippers  in  my  hand.  A  great  fear  was  upon  me 


72  WINDYRIDGE 

that  I  should  be  discovered  and  frustrated  in  my 
purpose  ;  and  as  I  strove  to  turn  the  heavy  key  in  the 
lock  my  heart  thumped  against  my  chest  and  the 
perspiration  poured  down  my  face.  At  first  the  bolt 
resisted  my  efforts,  but  at  length  it  shot  back  with  a 
great  noise,  which  awakened  Madam  Rusty,  who  opened 
her  bedroom  window  as  I  rushed  out  on  to  the  pavement 
and  cried  "  Murder  !  "  at  the  same  time  emptying 
the  contents  of  the  water  jug  upon  me. 

Fear  gave  wings  to  my  feet  and  I  fled,  followed  by  a 
howling  crowd  which  grew  bigger  every  moment  and 
gained  on  me  rapidly.  By  this  time  I  realised  that  I 
was  carrying  madam's  best  silver  tea-pot  under  my 
arm,  and  I  wanted  to  drop  it  but  dared  not. 

Then  I  found  myself  in  the  lane  at  Windyridge,  with 
the  squire  dressed  as  a  policeman  keeping  back  the 
crowd,  whilst  Mother  Hubbard,  without  her  bodice, 
as  I  had  seen  her  in  the  morning,  took  my  hand — and 
the  tea-pot — and  hurried  me  towards  the  cottage.  It 
was  just  in  sight  when  Madam  Rusty  jumped  out  of  a 
doorway  in  her  night-cap  and  dressing-gown  and 
shouted  '  Bo  !  '  waving  her  arms  about  wildly,  and 
as  I  hesitated  which  way  to  turn  she  flung  herself  upon 
me  and  seized  my  hair  in  both  her  hands.  As  I  screamed 
wildly,  I  saw  the  Cynic  leap  the  wall  in  his  golf  suit, 
and  woke  just  in  time  to  save  myself  considerable 
embarrassment. 

"  What  was  it,  love  ?  "  inquired  Mother  Hubbard, 
who  had  been  aroused  by  my  screams  and  was 
genuinely  alarmed. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  AT  WINDYRIDGE  73 

"  I  don't  quite  know,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  I  think  the 
turkey  was  quarrelsome  and  could  not  quite  hit  it  with 
the  plum  pudding." 

Mother  Hubbard  composed  herself  to  sleep  again  ; 
and  in  order  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  my  unhappy 
experience  I  got  my  books  and  proceeded  to  do  my 
accounts. 

I  have  not  been  idle  by  any  means  during  these 
months,  and  my  balance  is  quite  satisfactory.  I  have 
painted  quite  a  number  of  miniatures,  and  have  pre- 
pared and  sold  several  floral  designs  for  book  covers 
and  decorative  purposes.  I  see  plainly  that  I  am  not 
likely  to  starve  if  health  is  vouchsafed  to  me,  and  I 
was  never  more  contented  in  my  life.  I  wonder,  though, 
what  it  really  is  that  makes  me  so.  It  cannot  be 
sufficiency  of  work  merely,  for  that  was  never  lacking 
in  the  London  days  ;  and  as  for  friends,  I  have,  besides 
Mother  Hubbard,  only  Farmer  Goodenough  and  the 
squire,  and  he  is  away  and  likely  to  be  for  months.  I 
think  it  is  the  sense  of  "  aliveness  "  that  makes  me 
happy.  Some  folk  would  call  my  life  mere  existence, 
but  I  feel  as  if  I  never  really  lived  until  now  ;  and  I 
hanker  after  neither  theatres,  nor  whist-drives,  nor 
picture-shows,  nor  parties. 

Parties  !  Why,  we  have  parties  in  Windyridge,  and 
the  motherkin  and  I  went  to  one  that  evening.  We 
put  on  our  best  bibs  and  tuckers — not  our  very  best, 
but  I  wore  my  blue  voile  with  the  oriental  trimmings 
which  even  Rose  used  to  admit  set  off  my  figure  to 
advantage,  and  Mother  Hubbard  donned  the  famous 


74  WINDYRIDGE 

black  satin,  and  added  to  its  glories  the  soft  Shetland 

shawl  which  I  had  given  her  that  morning. 

Tea  was  prepared  in  the  spacious  kitchen,  which  had 
room  enough  and  to  spare  for  the  fifteen  people  of  all 
ages  who  were  assembled  there.  It  is  a  kitchen  lifted 
bodily  out  of  a  story  book,  without  one  single  alteration. 
The  room  is  low,  so  that  Farmer  Goodenough  touches 
the  beams  quite  easily  when  he  raises  his  hand,  and 
his  head  only  just  clears  the  hams  which  are  suspended 
from  them  ;  and  it  is  panelled  all  the  way  round  in 
oak.  There  are  oak  doors,  oak  cupboards,  oak  settles 
and  tables,  and  an  oak  dresser,  all  with  the  polish  of 
old  age  upon  them  and  with  much  quaint  carving  ;  all 
of  which  is  calculated  to  drive  a  connoisseur  to  covet- 
ousness  and  mental  arithmetic.  An  immense  fire 
roared  up  the  great  chimney,  and  its  flames  were 
reflected  in  the  polished  case  of  the  mahogany  grand- 
father's clock,  which  seemed  to  me  rather  out  of  place 
amongst  so  much  oak,  but  which,  with  slow  dignity, 
ticked  off  the  time  in  one  corner. 

On  the  far  side  of  the  room,  near  the  deeply  recessed 
window,  was  the  Christmas-tree — a  huge  tree  for  that 
low  room,  and  gay  with  glittering  glass  ornaments  in 
many  grotesque  shapes,  brightly  coloured  toys,  and 
wax  candles,  as  yet  unlighted. 

The  younger  members  of  the  party  were  gathered 
near  it  in  a  little  group,  whispering  excitedly,  and 
pointing  out  objects  of  delight  with  every  one  of  which 
each  individual  had  made  himself  familiar  hours 
before. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  AT  WINDYRIDGE  75 

Grandpa  Goodenough,  a  hale  old  man  of  eighty,  and 
to  be  distinguished  from  Grandfather  Goodenough,  his 
son,  smoked  a  long  clay  pipe  from  his  place  on  the 
settle  near  the  hearth,  and  smiled  on  everybody.  His 
daughter-in-law,  who  looked  much  too  young  to  be 
a  grandmother,  bustled  about  in  the  scullery,  being 
assisted  in  her  activities  by  her  eldest  daughter,  Ruth, 
and  her  son  Ben's  wife,  Susie,  and  obstructed  by  her 
husband  who,  with  a  sincere  desire  to  be  useful,  con- 
trived to  be  always  in  the  most  inconvenient  place  at 
the  most  awkward  time. 

Mother  Hubbard  and  I  had  been  invited  to  step 
into  the  parlour,  but  preferred  the  more  homely  atmo- 
sphere of  the  kitchen,  so  we  took  our  seats  on  the 
settle,  opposite  to  that  occupied  by  Grandpa. 

By  and  by  tea  was  ready  and  we  were  instructed  to 
"  pull  our  chairs  up  "  and  "  reach  to."  What  a  time 
we  had  !  If  tables  ever  do  groan  that  one  ought  to 
have  done  so,  for  it  had  a  heavy  load  which  we  were 
all  expected  to  lighten,  but  nobody  seemed  to  think 
it  might  be  necessary  to  press  anybody  to  eat. 

"  Now  you  know  you're  all  welcome,"  said  Farmer 
Goodenough  heartily,  when  the  youngest  grandchild 
had  asked  what  I  took  to  be  a  blessing.  "  We're  not 
allus  botherin'  folks  to  have  some  more  when  there's 
plenty  before  'em,  an'  all  they've  got  to  do  is  to  reach 
out  for  't  ;  but  if  you  don't  all  have  a  good  tea  it's 
your  own  fault,  an'  don't  blame  me.  '  Let  us  eat, 
drink,  an'  be  merry,'  as  t'  Owd  Book  bids  us." 

The  way  the  ham  disappeared  was  a  revelation  to 


76  WINDYRIDGE 

me.  Farmer  Goodenough  stood  to  carve,  and  after  a 
while  took  off  his  coat,  apparently  in  order  that  he 
might  be  able  to  mop  his  face  with  his  shirt  sleeves 
and  so  not  seriously  interrupt  his  operations.  Plates 
followed  each  other  in  unbroken  succession,  until  at 
last  the  good  man  threw  down  the  knife  and  fork  and 
pushed  back  his  chair. 

"  Well,  this  beats  all !  "  he  said.  "  Amos,  lad,  thee 
take  hold.  Thou's  had  a  fair  innings  :  give  thy  dad 
a  chance." 

Where  the  little  Goodenoughs  put  the  ham  and  the 
sponge  cake,  the  tarts  and  the  trifle,  the  red  jelly  and 
the  yellow  jelly  and  the  jelly  with  the  pine-apple  in  it 
I  do  not  pretend  to  know.  They  expanded  visibly, 
and  when  the  youngest  grandchild,  a  cherubic  infant 
of  three,  leaned  back  and  sighed,  and  whispered  with 
tears  in  his  voice,  "  Reggie  can't  eat  no  more,  muvver," 
I  felt  relieved. 

It  was  over  at  last  and  the  table  cleared  in  a  twinkling. 
Ben  whisked  away  the  remnants  of  the  ham  into  the 
larder.  The  women  folk  carried  the  crockery  into  the 
scullery,  and  whilst  they  were  engaged  in  washing  it 
up  the  boys  disappeared  into  remote  places  with  the 
fragments  of  the  feast,  and  Mother  Hubbard  swept 
the  crumbs  away  and  folded  the  cloth. 

"Now,"  said  Reggie,  with  another  little  sigh,  but  with 
just  a  suspicion  of  sunshine  in  his  eyes,  "  now  we'se 
goin'  to  p'ay,  an  'ave  ze  pwesents  off  ze  Kwismastwee." 

And  so  we  did.  Amos,  as  the  eldest  son  at  home, 
lit  the  candles,  and  Grandpa  distributed  the  gifts,  which 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  AT  WINDYRIDGE  77 

were  insignificant  enough  from  the  monetary  point  of 
view,  but  weighted  in  every  case  with  the  affection  and 
goodwill  of  the  burly  fanner  and  his  wife.  There  was 
even  a  box  of  chocolates  for  me,  and  with  its  aid  I 
succeeded  in  winning  the  heart  of  the  melancholy 
Reggie. 

Then  came  the  games.  I  wish  Rose  and  the  boarders 
at  No.  8  could  have  seen  the  demure  Miss  Holden  of 
former  days  walking  round  and  round  a  big  circle,  one 
hand  in  Reggie's  and  the  other  clasped  by  a  red-cheeked 
farmer,  whilst  a  dozen  voices  sang,  and  hers  as  loudly 
as  any : 

"  The  farmer's  dog  was  in  the  yard, 
And  Bingo  was  his  name-O  !  ' ' 

Then  came  the  mad  scramble  of  "  Shy  Widow  "  and 
the  embarrassments  of  the  "  Postman's  Knock," 
though  nobody  had  letters  for  me,  except  Reggie,  who 
had  one — very  sticky  and  perfumed  with  chocolate — 
and  Susie's  little  daughter,  Maud,  who  gave  me  three, 
very  shyly,  but  accompanied  by  an  affectionate  hug, 
which  I  returned.  After  this,  crackers,  with  all  their 
accompaniments  of  paper  caps  and  aprons,  and  by  the 
time  these  had  been  worn  and  exchanged  and  torn 
the  youngsters  were  clamouring  for  supper.  Supper  ! 
Ye  gods  ! 

When  this  repast  was  ended  and  the  younger 
members  of  the  party  had  been  packed  off  to  bed — 
for  only  Mother  Hubbard  and  I  were  to  leave  the 
farmer's  hospitable  home  that  night — some  of  the 
grown-ups  proposed  a  dance. 


78  WINDYRIDGE 

Grandpa  shook  his  head  in  protest.  "  Nay,  nay," 
he  said  in  his  thin,  piping  voice  ;  "I  don't  hold  wi' 
dancin'.  Never  did.  You  were  never  browt  up  to 
dance,  Reuben,  you  weren't." 

"  Reyt  enough,  father,"  responded  his  son,  "  but 
you  know  things  has  changed  sin'  I  were  a  lad.  You 
remember  what  t'  Owd  Book  says  ;  I  don't  just  rightly 
call  t'  words  to  mind,  but  summat  about  t'  owd  order 
changin'.  We  mun  let  t'  young  uns  have  a  bit  of  a 
fling." 

"  They  danced  in  t'  Bible,  grandpa,"  said  Rebecca, 
saucily. 

"  Well,  they  may  ha'  done,"  rejoined  the  old  man, 
retiring  to  the  settle  ;  "  but  I  weren't  browt  up  i'  that 
way,  an'  your  father  weren't  neither.  I  were  allus 
taught  'at  it  were  a  sort  of  a  devil's  game,  were  dancing." 

However,  dance  they  did,  and  I  played  for  them, 
doing  my  best  with  the  crazy  old  box-o '-music  in  the 
parlour  ;  and  as  I  glanced  through  the  open  door  I 
saw  that  Grandpa  was  following  it  all  with  great 
interest,  beating  time  the  while,  in  uncertain  fashion, 
with  head  and  hand. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MRS.    BROWN    EXPLAINS 

THERE  was  a  funeral  in  the  village  on  the 
Wednesday  of  last  week.  On  the  previous 
Sunday  Mother  Hubbard  had  assured  me 
with  great  solemnity  that  something  of  the  sort  was 
going  to  happen,  for  had  not  a  solitary  magpie 
perched  upon  our  garden  wall  and  waved  his  hand- 
some tail  in  full  view  of  the  window  for  at  least  a 
minute  ?  What  connection  there  was  between  his  visit 
and  the  calamity  which  it  foretold  was  not  clear  to  me, 
but  it  appears  that  the  magpie  is  a  bird  of  omen,  and 
there  is  an  old  rhyme  which  in  these  parts  is  considered 
oracular  : 

"  One  for  sorrow, 

And  two  for  mirth ; 
Three  for  a  wedding 
And  four  for  a  birth." 

However  that  may  be,  it  is  a  fact  that  in  the  late 
afternoon  Dr.  Trempest  called  to  inform  me  that 
Farmer  Brown  was  dead. 

"  He  has  lasted  twice  as  long  as  anyone  could  have  fore- 
seen," he  said.  "  Poor  chap,  it's  a  mercy  it's  all  over." 

The  whole  countryside  was  inches  deep  in  snow  when 
they  buried  him  in  the  little  God's  acre  that  clings  to 
the  side  of  the  hill  at  the  point  where  the  roads  diverge. 
The  grave-digger  had  a  hard  task,  for  we  had  had  a 


8o  WINDYRIDGE 

fortnight  of  severe  frost  ;  but  he  bent  to  his  work  with 
the  grim  persistence  of  the  man  who  knows  that  the 
last  enemy  is  a  hard  master,  and  that  there  must  be 
no  tarrying  in  his  service. 

All  the  village  turned  out  to  the  funeral,  and  there 
was  a  great  crowd  of  invited  mourners.  It  struck  me 
as  strange  that  so  many  coaches  should  be  provided, 
and  that  the  last  sad  rites  should  partake  of  the  nature 
of  a  public  spectacle,  for  surely  when  we  have  given 
our  loved  ones  into  God's  keeping  it  is  most  seemly  to 
lay  all  that  is  human  of  them  in  the  lap  of  earth 
reverently  and  with  simplicity  ;  but  the  Yorkshire 
folk  make  it  an  occasion  of  display,  fearing,  perhaps, 
to  dishonour  their  dead,  and  dreading  even  more  the 
criticism  and  displeasure  of  their  neighbours. 

When  the  grave  had  been  filled  in  and  the  upturned 
earth  was  covered  with  the  evergreens  and  wreaths 
which  loving  hands  had  brought  and  left  there,  I  went 
and  stood  beside  the  grave  and  thought  of  Farmer 
Brown's  parting  words.  I  suppose  it  is  heretical  to 
pray  for  the  dead,  but  I  did  it. 

Yesterday  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Brown,  taking  the 
photographs  and  a  framed  enlargement  with  me.  It 
was  a  hard  tramp,  and  my  arms  ached  before  the 
journey's  end  was  reached,  but  I  am  wonderfully  "  fit  " 
just  now,  and  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  walk.  Well 
— perhaps  I  must  modify  that.  There  was  always 
present  with  me  the  anticipation  of  a  depressing  scene, 
and  that  marred  the  enjoyment  somewhat,  though  it 
could  not  destroy  it. 


MRS.   BROWN    EXPLAINS          Si 

Yet  to  feel  the  sting  of  a  north-easterly  wind  on  one's 
cheek,  and  the  sensation  of  crunching  snow  beneath 
one's  feet,  with  a  bright  blue  sky  overhead  and  the 
far-away  smell  of  spring  in  one's  nostrils,  was  to 
experience  something  of  the  joy  of  life. 

Here  and  there  great  drifts  of  snow  were  piled  up 
against  the  banks  and  walls,  and  I  knew  that  sheep 
and  even  men  were  sometimes  lost  in  them,  but  I  was 
safe  enough,  for  the  road  was  fairly  well  trodden,  and 
when  I  left  it  and  climbed  the  stile  into  the  fields  leading 
to  the  farm  the  track  was  quite  discernible. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  anticipate,  and  to  dread  what  lies 
behind  the  veil  is  folly.  Mrs.  Brown  taught  me  that 
in  a  very  few  moments.  There  was  no  gloom  about 
the  kitchen  where  she  and  her  daughter  Jane  were 
busily  engaged  in  household  duties,  though  somehow 
one  felt  that  sorrow  dwelt  there  as  a  guest. 

I  explained  the  purpose  of  my  visit,  and  the  mother's 
eyes  grew  dim  with  tears. 

"  He  never  breathed  a  word,"  she  said  ;  "  but  that 
was  just  Greenwood  to  nowt.  He  was  allus  tryin'  to 
do  someb'dy  a  good  turn,  but  so  as  they  shouldn't  know 
it,  and  it  was  just  like  the  dear  lad  to  think  o'  them 
he  was  goin'  to  leave,  an'  try  to  pleasure  'em." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  rather  open  the  parcels  your- 
selves when  I  am  gone,"  I  suggested,  but  the  widow 
shook  her  head. 

"  Nay,  I'd  like  to  see  them  whilst  you're  here,  miss, 
if  you  don't  mind.  Jane,  love,  put  the  kettle  on  an' 
make  a  cup  of  tea  for  the  young  lady.  I  will  confess 


82  WINDYRIDGE 

'at  I  had  fret  just  a  bit  'cos  we  haven't  any  picture  of 
father,  except  one  'at  was  took  soon  after  we  were  wed, 
and  that's  over  thirty  year  sin' ;  and  I  can't  tell  you 
how  glad  I  shall  be  to  'ave  'em." 

I  had  done  my  best,  and  I  will  admit  that  the  en- 
largement pleased  me,  but  I  was  ill  prepared  for  the 
effect  it  produced  upon  the  widow  and  the  daughter. 
The  girl  was  in  her  twenties,  and  looked  matter-of-fact 
enough,  but  the  moment  she  saw  it  she  took  the  frame 
in  her  hands,  pressed  her  lips  to  the  glass,  and  cried 
with  a  dry  sob,  "  Oh,  dad,  dear,  I  cannot  bear  it  !  " 
and  then  knelt  down  on  the  broad  fender  and  prepared 
some  toast. 

But  her  mother  placed  the  picture  against  the  big 
Bible  on  the  high  drawers  and  gazed  steadily  at  it  for 
a  moment  or  two,  after  which  she  came  up  to  me  where 
I  was  standing,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  my 
neck  drew  my  head  on  to  her  shoulder,  for  she  is  a 
tall  woman,  and  kissed  me  again  and  again.  But  only 
one  or  two  big  tears  fell  upon  my  cheek,  and  she  wiped 
them  away  hastily  with  her  apron. 

''  I  can't  help  it,  miss,"  she  said,  "  you'll  not  take 
offence,  I'm  sure.  But  I  can't  do  anything  but  love 
you  for  what  you've  done  for  me  an'  Jane.  You've 
brought  more  comfort  to  this  house  than  I  ever  thought 
the  Lord  'ud  send  us,  an'  I  hope  He'll  pay  you  back  a 
hundredfold,  for  I  cannot." 

I  wonder  why  one  should  feel  so  warm  and  virtuous 
for  having  done  one's  duty.  I  had  put  my  heart 
into  the  work,  as  I  always  do — for  who  would  be  a 


MRS.    BROWN    EXPLAINS          83 

mere  mechanic  whom  God  meant  for  a  craftsman  ? — 
but  the  farmer  had  paid  me  the  price  I  asked,  and  the 
whole  transaction  had  been  conducted  on  strict  business 
lines.  What  right  had  I  to  be  pleased  with  the  super- 
payment  of  love  ?  But  I  was. 

Over  the  teacups  Mrs.  Brown  opened  her  heart  to 
me.  Jane  had  gone  away  to  the  dairy,  and  I  think  her 
mother  spoke  more  freely  in  her  absence,  or  perhaps 
the  feeling  of  strangeness  had  by  that  time  been  dis- 
pelled. I  saw  it  did  her  good  to  talk  and  I  rarely 
interrupted  her.  She  sat  with  her  cup  on  her  knee,  and 
her  eyes  fixed,  for  the  most  part,  upon  the  hearth. 

"  He  seemed  to  suffer  terrible  towards  the  end,"  she 
said,  "  but  he  allus  put  a  good  face  on  it  an'  tried  to 
keep  it  from  us.  But  choose  how  he  suffered  you 
never  'eard  one  word  of  complaint,  an'  he  wouldn't  let 
us  say  ought  hard  against  Him  above.  And  yet,  you 
know,  he  was  never  what  you  might  call  a  church 
member,  an'  he  wasn't  one  'at  went  regular  to  either 
church  or  chapel.  You  see,  it's  a  matter  o'  two  mile 
to  t'  chapel  at  Windyridge,  an' t'  nearest  church  11  be 
gettin'  on  for  four  mile  away. 

"  An'  he  wasn't  one  'at  spoke  a  deal  about  religion, 
neither,  nobbut  he  wouldn't  hear  anybody  speak  a 
word  agen  it.  There  isn't  a  labourer  or  a  farmer  or 
t'  doctor  himself  'at  'ud  use  a  bad  word  i'  front  o' 
Greenwood,  an'  he  never  did  himself.  He  used  to  sit 
i'  that  high- backed  chair  where  you're  sittin'  now,  every 
night  of  his  life,  wi'  that  big  Bible  on  his  knee,  an'  read 
in  it,  but  he  never  read  it  out  loud,  an'  what  Scripture 


84  WINDYRIDGE 

we  got  we'd  to  read  for  ourselves.     Nobbut  he'd  quote 

it  now  an'  then,  like,  when  there  were  any  'casion. 

"  I've  thought  often  sin'  he  came  home  that  day  an' 
told  us  what  were  goin'  to  happen,  an'  especially  sin' 
he  were  laid  up,  'at  it  'ud  maybe  have  been  better  if 
he'd  read  it  up  for  us  all  to  hear,  an'  talked  about  it  a 
bit,  but  it  wasn't  his  way,  wasn't  that.  He  was  same 
as  he  couldn't,  but  I  wonder  sometimes  if  it  'ud  have 
saved  us  this  trouble." 

"  But  could  anything  really  have  saved  it  ?  "  I 
inquired.  "  He  told  me  it  was  something  internal 
which  could  not  be  accounted  for." 

"  Ah,  miss,"  she  replied,  "  there's  a  kind  of  illness  'at 
you  can't  get  any  doctor  to  cure,  but  Greenwood's 
illness  could  be  accounted  for  when  you  know  all. 
It's  true  enough  'at  there  wasn't  a  stronger  nor  likelier 
man  i'  t'  West  Ridin'  than  my  'us band,  nor  a  steadier. 
And  he  never  ailed  owt,  never.  Day  in  an'  day  out  he 
did  his  work  wi'  t'  best  on  'em,  an'  took  all  his  meals 
hearty.  But  he  lived  wi'  a  great  big  wound  in  his 
inside  this  last  ten  year  for  all  that,  an'  they  can  say 
what  they  like,  but  I  know  if  he  hadn't  had  that  sore 
in  his  soul  he'd  never  have  had  that  bad  place  in  his 
body. 

"  You  can't  go  by  appearances,  miss.  My  husband 
was  right  enough  in  his  body,  but  he  was  sick  at  heart. 
It's  not  easy  tellin',  but  I  can  tell  you,  though  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know  why.  We  never  had  but  two  chil- 
dren, Jane  an'  her  brother  Joseph.  My  husband  was 
called  after  his  mother — her  name  was  Greenwood  afore 


MRS.   BROWN    EXPLAINS          85 

she  was  married — so  we  called  our  lad  Joseph  after 
his  grandfather.  He  came  within  a  year  of  our  gettin' 
wed,  and  a  brighter  little  lad  never  breathed.  Eh  ! 
he  was  that  bonny  an'  sweet  .  .  . 

"  How  is  it,  miss,  'at  some  grows  up  so  crook'd  an' 
others  i'  t'  same  family  never  gives  you  a  minute's 
trouble  ?  Our  Jane  has  been  a  comfort  to  us  both  all 
her  life,  but  Joe  has  broke  our  rest  many  a  hundred 
nights.  He  was  same  as  he  took  t'  wrong  road  from 
bein'  a  little  lad  o'  twelve.  He  would  go  his  own  road, 
an'  it  was  allus  t'  wrong  road.  He'd  work  if  it  pleased 
him,  an'  he  wouldn't  if  it  didn't,  an'  you  could  neither 
coax  him  nor  thrash  him  into  it.  His  father  tried 
both  ways,  an'  I  'm  sure  I  did  all  I  could.  An'  the  way 
he  sauced  his  father  you  wouldn't  believe  for  a  young 
lad. 

"  He  had  his  good  points,  too,  for  he  wouldn't  lie 
to  save  his  own  skin  or  anybody  else's,  an'  he  was  as 
honest  as  they  make  'em.  But  he  was  self-willed  and 
'eadstrong  past  all  tellin'.  He  used  to  laugh  about  the 
devil,  an'  say  it  was  all  bosh  an'  old  wives'  tales,  but 
if  ever  a  man  was  possessed  wi'  one  our  Joseph  was 
when  he  were  nineteen. 

"  There  isn't  a  church  for  four  mile  ;  no,  but  there 
are  two  drink  shops  easy  enough  to  get  at.  Oh,  miss, 
why  do  they  let  the  devil  set  traps  to  catch  the  souls 
o'  men  ?  They  can't  keep  him  out  of  us,  God  knows, 
but  they've  no  need  to  build  places  for  him  to  live  in, 
and  license  him  to  do  his  devil's  work.  O  Lord, 
why  didn't  You  save  our  Joe  ? 


86  WINDYRIDGE 

"  He  came  home  drunk  the  day  he  was  nineteen, 
an*  his  father  was  just  full  up  wi'  grief  an'  vexation. 
An'  men  don't  bear  wi'  it  same  as  women  do.  He  put 
the  Bible  down  on  the  table,  Greenwood  did,  an'  he 
went  up  to  t'  lad,  an'  he  said  : 

"  '  I  won't  have  it,  Joe.  I've  told  you  afore  an'  I 
tell  you  again,  if  you're  goin'  to  come  home  drunk 
ye '11  sleep  in  t'  barn,  for  I  won't  have  you  in  t'  house.' 

"  Oh,  I  can't  bide  to  think  of  it,  but  Joe  swore  a 
great  oath,  an'  clenched  his  fist  an'  hit  his  father  in  t' 
body  ;  an'  then  Greenwood  seized  him  by  t'  coat  collar 
an'  flung  him  in  t'  yard,  an'  locked  t'  door  agen  him. 
I  shall  never  forget  it.  I  cried  an'  begged  him  to  go  out 
to  t'  lad,  but  he  wouldn't.  He  said  he  could  sleep  in 
t'  barn,  but  until  he  were  sober  he  shouldn't  come  into 
t'  house. 

"  Well,  I  said  no  more,  but  crept  upstairs  to  bed  an' 
sobbed  for  an  hour,  an'  then  I  heard  Greenwood  shout- 
ing 'at  t'  barn  was  afire.  We  all  rushed  out,  an'  there 
was  soon  plenty  of  'elp,  but  we  lost  two  cows  an'  a  lot 
o'  hay  that  night ;  but  worse  than  that,  we  lost  our 
Joe.  Not  'at  he  were  burned  or  ought  o'  that  sort. 
He  fired  t'  barn  an'  made  off,  an'  his  father  never  tried 
to  follow  him.  But  from  that  day  to  this  we've  never 
heard  one  word  of  our  lad. 

"  I  can  hear  them  beasts  roaring  with  pain  in  the 
night  yet,  but  you  know,  miss,  that  was  soon  over, 
an'  they  got  their  release.  But  it's  different  wi'  us. 
We  aren't  beasts.  Greenwood  could  bear  pain.  He 
made  nought  o'  the  blow,  though  it  was  a  savage  'un, 


MRS.   BROWN    EXPLAINS          87 

but  it  was  the  thought  of  it  'at  hurt  him,  an'  the 
thought  of  him  'at  did  it,  an'  wondering  what  had 
come  of  him.  Pain's  nought  ;  any  woman  can  bide 
pain — an'  God  knows  'at  we  have  to  do,  oft  enough — 
but  when  your  soul  gets  hurt  there's  no  putting  any 
ointment  on  it,  an'  there's  no  doctor  in  t'  world  can 
do  you  any  good. 

"  God  ?  Oh  yes,  miss,  I  know,  but  I  don't  under- 
stand. I  believe  Greenwood  did,  an'  he  went  home 
peaceful,  if  not  happy  ;  an'  I'm  not  murmuring.  1 
believe  the  Lord  '11  work  it  all  out  i'  time,  but  it's  a 
puzzle.  I  should  ha'  lost  heart  an'  hope  but  for 
Greenwood  ;  but  I'm  goin'  to  hold  on  for  his  sake  an' 
Jane's — an'  for  our  Joe's." 

As  I  walked  home  the  lingering  sun  cast  long,  black 
shadows  athwart  the  snow,  but  the  shadows  were  only 
on  the  surface,  and  did  not  soil  the  purity  of  the  mantle 
which  God  had  thrown  over  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  X 

INTRODUCES  WIDOW  ROBERTSHAW 

I  HAVE  been  having  quite  an  exciting  time  lately. 
If  you  have  never  lived  in  a  small  hamlet  of 
a  hundred  souls  or  thereabouts,  with  smaller 
tributary  hamlets  dropped  down  in  the  funniest  and 
most  unlikely  places  within  easy  walking  distance,  you 
do  not  know  how  very  full  of  excitement  life  can  be. 

Why,  when  I  was  living  at  No.  8  nobody  displayed 
very  much  emotion  when  the  jeweller  at  the  end  of 
the  street  suffered  "  the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous 
fortune  "  as  the  result  of  the  undesired  patronage  of 
connoisseurs  in  diamonds  ;  and  even  when  we  learned 
that  the  poor  man  had  been  found  gagged  and  bound  to 
his  office  chair  and  more  dead  than  alive,  the  languid 
interest  of  the  company  was  sufficiently  expressed  in 
the  "  Hard  luck  !  "  of  the  gentlemen,  and  the  "  What 
a  shame  !  "  of  the  ladies. 

"  That's  the  fire-engine,"  someone  would  remark,  as 
the  horses  dashed  past  to  the  clang  of  the  warning 
bell ;  but  we  sent  up  our  plates  for  a  second  helping  of 
boiled  mutton  with  never  a  thought  as  to  the  destina- 
tion and  fate  of  the  brave  fellows  who  might  be  about 
to  risk  their  lives  in  a  grim  struggle  with  flame  and 
smoke. 

Murders  and  assassinations  and  suicides  were  dis- 


WIDOW   ROBERTSHAW  89 

cussed,  if  they  had  been  conducted  respectably,  with 
the  same  air  of  commiseration  as  was  employed  when 
a  fellow-boarder  complained  of  headache  ;  if  they 
were  not  respectable  we  did  not  discuss  them  at  all. 
It  took  a  first-class  society  scandal  to  really  stir  us, 
and  then  we  gathered  in  groups  and  became  thoroughly 
interested — the  women,  I  mean,  of  course.  The  men 
were  just  as  interested  but  not  so  ready  to  admit  it, 
and  professed  to  be  debating  politics.  I  sometimes 
wonder  if  what  the  Psalmist  said  in  his  haste  might 
not  have  been  affirmed  more  leisurely.  However,  that 
is  nothing  to  the  point  ;  ordinarily,  there  is  no  denying 
the  fact  that  we  were  bored,  or  perhaps  I  ought  to 
adopt  the  modern  expression  and  say  "  blase." 

Here  in  Windyridge  that  word  and  its  significance 
are  unknown. 

When  old  Mrs.  Smithies'  sow  had  a  litter  of  seventeen 
pigs  we  all  threw  down  our  work  and  went  across  to 
congratulate  her,  and  stopped  each  other  in  the  street 
to  discuss  the  momentous  event,  and  to  speculate  on 
the  difference  it  would  make  in  that  worthy  lady's 
fortunes. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  old  Woodman's  dog,  Caesar, 
was  reported  to  have  gone  mad,  we  were  wildly  excited 
for  the  space  of  one  whole  day,  and  spent  our  time  in 
telling  each  other  what  dreadful  things  might  have 
happened  if  he  had  not  been  securely  chained  up  from  the 
moment  the  symptoms  became  ominous  ;  and  recalling 
lurid  and  highly-imaginative  stories  of  men  who,  as  the 
result  of  dog-bites,  had  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and  had  to 


go  WINDYRIDGE 

be  roped  down  to  their  beds.  Which  reminded  someone 
else  of  the  bull  that  old  Green  used  to  have,  away 
yonder  past  Uncle  Ned's,  which  went  mad  one  Whit- 
suntide, and  tore  along  the  road  three  good  miles  to 
Windyridge,  roaring  furiously,  and  scattering  the 
school  children,  who  were  assembled  for  the  treat,  in  all 
directions  ;  and  badly  goring  this  very  dog  Caesar, 
who  had  pluckily  charged  him. 

This  week's  excitements  began  on  Monday,  when 
young  Smiddles,  who  had  been  "  gas-acting,"  according 
to  his  mother,  ran  his  fist  through  the  window-pane, 
and  cut  his  arm  very  badly  and  even  dangerously. 
Smiddles'  roaring  must  have  rivalled  that  of  old 
Green's  bull,  and,  supplemented  by  his  mother's 
screams,  it  served  to  rouse  the  whole  village. 

Smiddles'  sister,  a  buxom  young  woman  of  plain 
appearance  but  sound  sense,  threatened  to  box  the 
sufferer's  ears  if  he  did  not  "  stop  that  din,"  and  though 
much  alarmed  at  the  flow  of  blood,  made  some  efforts 
to  staunch  it  with  her  apron. 

I  had  already  gained  an  ill-deserved  reputation  for 
surgery,  principally  on  account  of  the  possession  of 
a  medicine  chest  and  an  "  Ambulance  "  certificate, 
and  my  services  were  speedily  requisitioned  by  the 
fleet-footed  son  of  the  next  door  neighbour,  who  bade 
me  come  at  once,  as  "  Smiddles'  lad  "  was  "  bleeding  to 
death  on  t'  hearthstone." 

After  I  had  prevented  the  realisation  of  this  fatality 
by  means  of  a  tight  bandage,  and  made  the  patient  as 
comfortable  as  a  sling  permits,  I  despatched  the  mer- 


WIDOW    ROBERTSHAW  91 

curie  youth  to  summon  Dr.  Trempest,  as  I  was  afraid 
some  stitches  would  be  necessary,  and  went  out  to 
find  the  street  buzzing  with  excitement,  and  my 
humble  self  regarded  as  only  slightly  less  than  super- 
human. 

No  sooner  had  this  sensation  died  down  than  the 
village  thermometer  rose,  two  days  later,  to  fever  heat 
on  the  report  that  little  Willie  Jones  had  ventured  to 
test  the  ice  upon  the  huge  water-butt  which  occupied 
a  slightly  elevated  position  at  the  end  of  his  father's 
house  and  was  "  drownded  dead  for  sure." 

Not  a  soul  in  the  village  knew  what  course  to  pursue 
under  the  circumstances,  and  every  eager  helper  njight 
have  avowed  with  truth  and  sincerity  that  he  had 
done  the  things  he  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  left 
undone  the  things  he  ought  to  have  done  ;  and  it  was 
fortunate  for  poor  little  Willie  that  my  First  Aid  lessons 
had  qualified  me  for  dealing  with  an  emergency  of  this 
kind. 

Fanner  Goodenough  and  I  worked  hard  for  an  hour, 
and  my  arms  ached  with  the  effort,  but  at  length  the 
reluctant  engine  began  to  move,  throbbing  fitfully  but 
with  increasing  strength  ;  and  hot  flannels  and  heated 
bricks,  with  judicious  but  energetic  rubbing,  completed 
the  treatment  and  brought  life  and  colour  back  again, 
so  that  when  the  doctor  arrived  there  was  little  left 
to  be  done. 

I  believe  I  was  excited  myself  when  it  was  all  over, 
and  if  my  head  had  not  been  fixed  very  solidly  upon 
my  shoulders  it  would  certainly  have  been  turned  that 


92  WINDYRIDGE 

day  by  the  ridiculous  and  extravagant  eulogies  of  my 
neighbours. 

Then  followed  the  great  blizzard.  I  suppose  our 
cousins  across  the  water  would  have  small  respect  for 
such  an  unpretentious  specimen  as  we  experienced, 
but  to  me  it  was  a  revelation  of  what  old  Mother 
Nature  can  do  when  she  clenches  her  teeth  and  puts 
her  hand  to  it. 

A  bright  but  grey  sky  overhung  the  earth  when  I 
set  out  soon  after  dinner  for  a  brisk  constitutional,  and 
I  never  for  a  moment  anticipated  any  change  in  the 
conditions.  For  some  weeks  past  we  had  had  alter- 
nations of  frost  and  snow  and  thaw,  and  for  several 
days  the  bare,  brown  earth  had  been  frozen  hard,  and 
the  roadway  was  furrowed  as  a  field,  with  ice  filling 
every  rut  and  wrinkle. 

It  was  an  ideal  day  for  a  sharp  walk,  provided  one's 
organs  were  sound  and  one's  limbs  supple,  and  though 
a  thousand  needles  pricked  my  cheeks  and  hands,  and 
my  ears  smarted  with  the  pinching  they  got,  my  whole 
body  was  soon  aglow  and  I  revelled  in  the  encounter. 

I  took  the  downward  road  which  winds  slowly  round 
to  Marsland,  and  tried  to  discover  the  heralds  of  spring. 
On  such  a  day  everybody  should  be  an  optimist.  I 
think  I  generally  am  as  regards  myself,  whatever  the 
weather  may  be  like,  but  I  must  admit  that  so  far  I 
have  had  little  cause  for  being  anything  else.  It  is 
only  when  I  begin  to  dwell  on  the  miseries  of  other 
people,  and  the  wrongs  which  it  seems  impossible  to 
put  right,  that  the  black  mood  settles  upon  me. 


WIDOW   ROBERTSHAW  93 

But  on  this  particular  day  I  felt  on  good  terms  with 
the  world,  and  thought  of  the  sunny  days  which  lay 
ahead,  and  of  the  coming  morning,  when  the  heather 
bells  would  feel  the  warm  breath  of  summer  upon  their 
face,  and  open  their  eyes  in  loving  response  to  her  kiss. 

And  here  and  there  in  the  shelter  of  the  hedges,  and 
by  the  banks  of  the  ice-bound  stream  where  the  bridge 
crosses  it  I  found  the  heralds  I  sought — tiny  shoots  of 
green  pushing  their  way  through  the  hard  soil  or  the 
warm  coverlet  of  faded  leaves.  By-and-by  the  icy 
fingers  will  have  to  relax  their  grasp,  and  the  woods 
and  hedgerows  will  be  gay  with  the  little  fairy  crea- 
tures, who  dress  so  daintily  in  colours  of  a  hundred 
hues  for  our  enjoyment,  and  who  smile,  perhaps,  to 
think  what  a  limited  monarchy  King  Frost  maintains 
after  all. 

I  am  well  known  by  now,  and  every  farmer's  boy 
who  passes  me  exchanges  greetings,  sometimes  with 
a  half-hearted  movement  of  the  hand  in  the  direction 
of  the  cap,  but  oftener  with  the  smile  of  recognition 
which  betokens  comradeship.  For  our  relations  are  on 
the  most  cordial  footing  of  strict  equality  ;  we  are  all 
workmen,  each  after  his  kind,  servants  of  one  Master  ; 
and  if  God  gives  us  grace  to  use  our  opportunities  as 
we  ought  we  may  all  enter,  even  now,  into  the  joy  of 
the  Lord.  There  is  a  vast  difference,  as  I  have  learned, 
between  servility  and  respectfulness,  and  I  believe  I 
am  as  much  respected  as  the  squire,  though  with  less 
reason  :  and  nobody  is  unduly  deferential  even  to 
him. 


94  WINDYRIDGE 

The  good  women  in  the  cluster  of  cottages  down  the 
lane  waved  their  hands  as  I  passed,  and  a  couple  of 
maidens  of  tender  years,  one  fair,  the  other  with 
raven  locks,  ran  out  and  seized  each  an  arm,  and 
escorted  me  a  hundred  yards  along  my  way. 

I  sat  on  the  bridge  for  a  while  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  it  may  have  been  the  network  of  trees  in  the  little 
wood  which  hid  from  my  eyes  the  approaching  storm. 
For  with  the  suddenness  of  a  panther  it  sprang  upon 
me.  There  had  been  a  fairly  stiff  breeze  at  my  back, 
which  had  helped  me  along  famously,  taking  toll  of  my 
ears  for  its  fee,  but  now,  as  if  its  playful  humour  had  been 
changed  to  madness,  it  lashed  me  mercilessly  with 
knotted  whips  of  frozen  rain. 

Expecting  every  minute  to  reach  the  shelter  of  a 
farm  I  hurried  forward,  whilst  the  storm  howled  and 
raged  behind  and  about  me.  It  was  well  for  me  that 
the  storm  was  at  my  back,  for  my  face  was  entirely 
unprotected  and  the  sleet  was  driven  past  me  in 
straight,  almost  horizontal  lines,  which  obliterated  the 
landscape  in  a  moment,  and  stung  my  neck  so  that  I 
could  have  cried  with  pain.  When  I  had  rounded 
the  bend  and  climbed  the  stiff  ascent  my  plight  was 
worse.  There  was  no  protection  of  any  kind,  and  my 
face  suffered  so  terribly  that  I  began  to  be  alarmed. 
To  add  to  my  difficulties  every  landmark  had  been 
blotted  out,  and  the  road  itself  was  becoming  indis- 
tinguishable from  the  low-lying  edge  of  moor  over  which 
it  wound. 

Like  ten  thousand  shrouded  demons  let  loose  to 


WIDOW    ROBERTSHAW  95 

work  destruction  the  wind  hissed  and  shrieked  and 
roared,  and  tore  across  my  path  with  a  force  I  could 
scarcely  resist.  Ten  minutes  after  its  commencement 
I  was  treading  ankle-deep  in  snow,  and  I  could  see  that 
drifts  were  beginning  to  form  where  the  road  had  been 
brought  below  the  level  of  the  rising  and  lumpy  moor. 
I  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  sitting  by 
Mother  Hubbard's  side,  listening  to  the  click  of  the 
needles,  but  I  was  indeed  thankful  that  she  had  not 
accompanied  me. 

After  the  first  sensation  of  alarm  and  dismay  the 
novelty  of  the  situation  began  to  appeal  to  me.  One 
can  get  accustomed  even  to  being  thrashed  by  the 
genii  of  the  air,  and  I  became  conscious  of  a  certain 
exhilaration  which  was  almost  pleasant,  even  whilst 
I  was  ardently  longing  for  the  sight  of  a  friendly  roof. 

I  know  now  that  I  missed  the  broad  road,  and  took 
a  narrower  one  which  sloped  down  at  an  acute  angle, 
but  I  was  unconscious  of  this  at  the  time,  and  was  only 
grateful  to  find  some  protection  from  the  high  wall 
upon  my  left.  I  know  also  that  I  had  passed  two 
or  three  farms  where  I  might  have  been  hospitably 
received,  but  no  fog  could  have  proved  a  thicker  curtain 
than  that  impenetrable  veil  of  driven  snow,  and  I 
never  even  guessed  at  their  existence. 

The  moor  now  began  to  rise  steeply  upon  my  right, 
and  as  I  stumbled  forward,  holding  my  hat  upon  my 
head  with  both  hands,  I  suddenly  found  myself  upon 
hard  ground  again,  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  snow  to  be 
seen,  and  with  a  whole  row  of  cottages  on  one  side 


96  WINDYRIDGE 

of  the  road,  in  which  blazing  fires  offered  me  a  warm 
welcome.  I  could  hardly  realise  that  I  had  found 
refuge. 

The  roadway  was  only  wide  enough  to  accommodate 
a  good  sized  dray,  and  was  separated  from  the  houses 
by  the  narrowest  of  footpaths,  and  flanked  on  the 
right  by  the  bare  side  of  the  hill,  which  rose  precipi- 
tously from  the  ground,  to  be  soon  concealed  in  the 
mantle  of  the  storm.  Seen  indistinctly  as  I  saw  it 
then  it  appeared  more  like  a  railway  cutting  than 
anything  else,  and  I  could  only  marvel  at  the  eccen- 
tricity of  man  in  erecting  houses  in  such  an  unpromising 
locality.  However,  for  the  mariner  in  danger  of  ship- 
wreck to  criticise  the  harbour  of  refuge  in  which  he 
finds  himself  is  mean  ingratitude. 

"  Nay,  to  be  sure  !  "  The  ejaculation  came  from 
the  mouth  of  a  comely  woman  of  considerable  pro- 
portions who  filled  up  the  doorway  of  the  cottage 
opposite  to  which  I  was  standing.  She  wore  a  brown 
skirt  protected  by  a  holland  apron,  and  surmounted  by 
a  paisley  blouse  bearing  a  fawn  design  on  a  ground  of 
crudest  green.  The  sleeves  of  the  blouse  buttoned  and 
were  turned  back  to  the  elbow,  and  as  two  hooks  were 
loose  at  the  neck  I  felt  justified  in  assuming  that  my 
new  acquaintance  was  an  enemy  of  constraint.  Her 
feet  were  encased  in  carpet  slippers  of  shameless  mas- 
culinity, and  a  black  belt  encircled  her  ample  waist, 
which  at  this  moment  was  partly  hidden  by  the 
outstretched  fingers  of  her  hands,  as  she  stood,  arms 
akimbo,  in  the  doorway. 


WIDOW   ROBERTSHAW  97 

Her  face,  plump,  pleasant  and  rosy,  had  for  its 
principal  feature  two  merry  twinkling  eyes,  which 
sparkled  with  humour  as  she  gazed  upon  me  ;  and  her 
hair,  which  was  beginning  to  turn  grey,  was  drawn 
tightly  back  and  coiled  in  one  large  plait  upon  the 
crown.  Altogether  she  was  a  very  homely,  approach- 
able woman,  who  had  seen,  as  I  judged,  some  fifty 
summers,  and  I  hailed  her  appearance  with  joy. 

"  Nay,  to  be  sure  !  "  she  repeated  ;  "  are  ye  Lot's 
wife  ?  or  has  t'  lads,  young  monkeys,  planted  a  snow 
man  at  my  door  ?  Here,  bide  a  bit  while  I  brush  ye 
down,  an'  then  come  inside  wi'  ye." 

I  laughed,  and  submitted  to  the  operation,  vigor- 
ously performed  in  the  street,  and  then  followed  my 
rescuer  indoors. 

All  my  explanations  were  greeted  with  the  same 
expressive  utterance.  "  To  be  sures  "  came  as  thickly 
as  currants  in  a  Yorkshire  tea-cake.  We  were  unknown 
to  each  other  by  sight — for  I  was  now,  I  found,  in  Mars- 
land  Gap,  with  the  valley  between  me  and  Windyridge — 
but  my  fame  had  preceded  me. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure  !  So  you're  t'  young  lady  what 
takes  fotygraphs  up  at  Windyridge.  Why,  bless  ye, 
I  can  show  ye  t'  very  house  ye  live  in,  an' t'  glass  place 
where  I  reckon  ye  take  yer  fotygraphs  from  this  window 
in  t'  scullery.  Nay,  to  be  sure  !  it's  that  wild  ye 
cannot  see  an  arm's  length.  Well,  well,  let's  hev  yer 
wet  things  off,  for  ye're  fair  steamin'  afore  that  fire." 

I  protested  in  vain.  My  hat  and  coat  had  already 
been  removed,  and  now  my  hostess  insisted  that'my 


H 


98  WINDYRIDGE 

dress  skirt  should  be  hung  upon  the  clothes-horse  to 
dry.  Oh  Rose,  Rose  !  what  would  you  not  have 
given  to  see  me  ten  minutes  later,  clad  in  a  garment 
which  was  reasonable  enough  as  to  length,  but  which 
had  to  be  pinned  in  a  great  overlapping  fold  half  round 
my  body  ?  I  looked  at  myself  and  roared,  whilst  the 
owner  of  the  dress  shook  her  sides  with  merriment.  All 
the  same,  I  had  found  the  inn  of  the  Good  Samaritan, 
and  my  stay  there  did  not  even  cost  me  the  two  pence 
of  the  story. 

What  do  you  think  we  had  for  tea  ?  Muffins, 
toasted  cheese,  home-made  jam  and  "  spice  cake  "  ! 
I  helped  to  "  wash-up,"  and  as  the  storm  continued 
with  unabated  fury  I  resigned  myself  cheerfully  to  the 
snug  rocking-chair  and  the  glowing  hearth.  Thoughts 
of  Mother  Hubbard's  anxiety  worried  me  a  little,  but 
I  hoped  she  would  realise  that  I  had  found  shelter. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  your  name  yet,"  I  began, 
when  we  were  comfortably  settled,  I  with  my  hands 
idle  upon  my  lap,  and  she  with  a  heap  of  "  mending  " 
upon  her  knee. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure  !  so  I  haven't,"  she  replied. 
"  Maria  Robertsha'  's  my  name,  an' it's  a  name  I'm  noan 
ashamed  on.  Not  but  what  I'd  change  it  if  someb'dy 
'ud  give  me  a  better.  It's  all  right  livin'  by  yerself  if  ye 
can't  'elp  it  ;  an'  to  be  sure,  when  ye  live  by  yerself 
ye  know  what  comp'ny  ye  keep ;  but  them  can  'ave  it 
'at  likes  for  me." 

"  Then  do  you  live  here  quite  alone  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Barring  the  cat,  I  do.     I  did  'ave  a  parrot  one 


WIDOW   ROBERTSHAW  99 

time,  'cos  it's  nasty  temper  seemed  to  make  it  more 
'omelike  ;  but  t'  lads,  young  imps,  taught  it  all  sorts  o' 
indecent  stuff,  which  made  it  as  I  'ad  to  part  wi'  it, 
an'  it  was  nearly  like  losing  a  'usband  a  second  time. 
It  used  to  be  that  gruff  an'  masterful  you  wouldn't 
think  !  No,  I  reckon  nowt  o'  livin'  by  mysen." 

"  It  is  not  good  that  man  should  be  alone,"  I 
quoted. 

"  It's  worse  for  woman,"  she  said,  "an'  yet,  to  be 
sure,  I  don't  know,  for  a  woman  'at  is  a  woman  can 
allus  make  shift  somehow,  an'  doesn't  stand  pullin' 
a  long  face  an'  cussin'  providence.  But  men  are  poor 
menseless  creatures  when  they're  left  to  theirsens  ; 
an'  it  allus  caps  me  to  think  'at  they  call  theirsens 
'  lords  o'  creation,'  an  yet  'as  to  fetch  a  woman  to  sew 
a  gallus  button  on,  an'  'ud  let  t'  'ouse  get  lost  i'  muck 
afore  they'd  clean  it.  Suppose  a  man  lived  'ere  by 
hissen,  do  you  think  this  kitchen  'ud  look  like  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sure  it  would  not,"  I  replied,  "  and  it 
wouldn't  if  some  women  lived  here." 

"  Well,  anyway,  it  just  goes  to  prove  'at  men  need 
women  to  look  after  'em,  but  for  all  that  it's  bad 
enough  for  a  woman  to  be  alone.  To  be  sure,  she's  a 
poor  sort  'at  hasn't  more  about  'er  nor  a  man,  an'  it 
isn't  'at  she's  flayed  o'  bein'  by  hersenor  can't  manage 
for  hersen,  or  owt  o'  that.  No,  no.  But  there's 
summat  short,  for  all  that.  Ye  can  take  it  from  me, 
miss,  'at  Eve  'ud  sooner  have  been  driven  out  o'  Eden 
wi'  her  'usband,  nor  have  been  left  there  to  fend  for 
hersen.  Women  doesn't  want  to  be  t'  boss  :  they 


ioo  WINDYRIDGE 

want  to  be  bossed,  or  anyway  they  like  t'  man  to  think 
'at  he's  bossin'  em.  An'  they  like  'im  to  come  in  wi' 
his  great  dirty  boots  spreadin'  t'  muck  all  ovver  t'  floor, 
an'  puttin'  'em  on  t'  scoured  'earthstone,  so  as  they 
can  '  call '  'im  an'  clear  up  after  'im. 

"  Oh,  aye,  to  be  sure,  an'  they  like  to  see  'im  light  his 
pipe  an'  then  fratch  wi'  'im  for  fillin'  t'  'ouse  wi' 
smoke  ;  an'  even  if  he  knocks  ye  about  a  bit  now  an' 
then,  he  sidles  up  to  ye  at  after,  an'  'appen  puts  'is 
arms  round  ye,  an' — an'  makes  a  fool  of  hissen  ;  but 
ye  feel  t'  want  on  it  when  ye've  been  used  to  't." 

"  But  we  cannot  all  have  husbands,"  I  objected  ; 
"  there  are  not  enough  of  the  other  sex  to  go 
round." 

"  To  be  sure,  that's  so,"  she  consented  ;  "  but  that 
doesn't  alter  t'  fact  'at  we  want  'em,  does  it  ?  But 
I'd  tax  all  t'  men  'at  isn't  married,  the  selfish  beggars. 
The  Almighty  meant  'em  to  pair  off.  Two  an'  two 
they  went  into  t'  ark,  an'  two  an'  two  they  should  go 
yet  if  I'd  my  way.  It's  nature.  An'  I  never  could 
see  yet  why  t'  wimmen  should  'ave  to  sit  quiet  an' 
wait  for  t'  men  to  come  an'  ask  for  'em.  A  woman 
knows  better  by  'alf  what  man  'ud  suit  'er,  an'  'er  'im, 
than  t'  man  knows.  She  knows  without  knowing 
how  she  knows  ;  whereas  t'  man  just  sees  a  pretty 
face,  an'  some  dainty  little  feet  i'  'igh-heeled  boots,  an' 
some  frizzy  'air,  'at  she's  bought  as  like  as  not  at  a 
barber's,  an'  there  ye  are  !  But  where  are  ye  in  toathree 
years'  time  ?  Aye,  to  be  sure,  where  are  ye  then  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  if  conventionality  had  permitted,   your 


WIDOW  ROBERTSHAW  101 

state  might  have  been  changed  again  by  now,"  I 
suggested  slyly. 

"Well,  now,  to  be  sure,  Miss  Holden,"  she  replied, 
drawing  her  chair  a  little  nearer  to  mine,  and  laying 
one  hand  upon  my  lap  for  emphasis,  "  I  thought  after 
Robertsha'  died  'at  it  were  a  case  of  '  once  bitten, 
twice  shy/  for  there  were  odd  times  when  he  filled  up 
the  cup,  so  to  speak.  But,  ye  know,  I  missed  'im  ;  an* 
though  it's  twelve  year  sin'  come  Shrove-tide,  I  miss 
'im  yet  ;  an'  if  I  had  the  askin'  I've  known  for  a  long 
time  who  it  'ud  be  'at  'ud  take  his  place ;  but  ye  see  I 
'aven't,  so  I  bide  as  I  am." 

I  thought  of  the  old  fox,  Simon  Barjona,  and  laughed 
inwardly  as  well  as  out  ward1  y.  Widow  Robertshaw 
little  realised  that  I  knew  her  secret. 

Outside  the  storm  raged  furiously.  The  snow  lay 
thick  upon  the  ground,  moist  as  it  fell,  but  frozen  in  a 
moment,  and  to  venture  out  seemed  in  my  case  impos- 
sible. We  held  a  council  of  ways  and  means  which 
resulted  in  the  production  of  a  young  man  of  strong 
build  from  a  cottage  a  few  doors  away,  who  smiled  at 
the  storm  and  readily  undertook — in  exchange  for  a 
shilling,  coin  of  the  realm — to  convey  a  note  to  Mother 
Hubbard,  describing  my  predicament. 

I  enjoyed  Widow  Robertshaw's  hospitality,  perforce, 
for  two  days,  and  when  I  returned  home  it  was  in  Mr. 
Higgins'  market  cart,  he  having  called  in  the  Gap 
"  casual-like "  to  see  how  Mrs.  Robertshaw  was 
"  going  on." 


CHAPTER    XI 

GINTY    RUNS   AWAY 

WHAT  a  curious  medley  life  is !  How  crowded 
with  dramatic  situations  and  sudden  anti- 
climaxes !  Even  in  Windyridge  the  pro- 
gramme of  existence  is  as  varied  and  full  of  interest  as 
that  of  any  picture  palace.  We  have  all  the  combina- 
tions of  tragedy  and  pathos  and  humour,  and  he  who 
has  eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear  and  a  heart  to  feel  need 
not  complain  of  the  monotony  of  the  village,  nor  pine 
for  the  manufactured  excitements  of  the  metropolis. 

A  letter  with  a  foreign  postmark  and  an  Egyptian 
stamp  was  handed  to  me  on  Monday  morning,  and  I 
have  been  excited  and  troubled  ever  since,  though  it 
brought  me  a  great  joy.  The  handwriting  was  un- 
familiar, but  when  I  turned  to  the  signature  I  found  it 
was  from  the  squire,  and  I  began  to  read  it  eagerly.  I 
was  astonished  to  find  how  small  and  particularly 
neat  his  handwriting  is. 

The  letter  ran  thus,  omitting  certain  descriptive 
and  unimportant  paragraphs  : 

"  Assouan,  Upper  Nile, 

"  March  I2tht  19 — . 
"  DEAR  Miss  HOLDEN, 

"  I  wonder  if  I  might  claim  an  old  man's  privi- 
lege and  call  you  '  Grace  '  ?     I  should  like  to  do  so,  for 


GINTY  RUNS  AWAY  103 

do  you  know  there  is  not  one  of  your  sex  in  the  wide 
world  whom  I  have  a  right  to  address  by  the  Christian 
name,  and,  what  is  perhaps  more  noteworthy,  there  is 
no  other  whose  permission  I  have  the  least  desire  to 
ask.  But  somehow  or  other  I  am  longing  for  kinsfolk 
to-day,  and  the  sensation  is  almost  inexpressibly 
acute,  so  much  so  that  I  actually  feel  the  pain  of 
loneliness,  and  that  '  Inner  Self  '  in  which,  I  remember, 
you  trust  so  completely,  cries  out  for  sympathy  and 
companionship.  If  I  mistake  not  we  have  common 
ideals  and  aspirations — you  and  I — which  make  us 
kin,  and  I  am  disposed  to  '  stretch  out  lame  hands  of 
faith  '  in  your  direction,  if  haply  I  may  find  you  and 
draw  your  soul  to  mine.  So  if  it  be  your  will,  let  us  be 
friends,  and  do  you  send  across  the  seas  and  deserts 
those  mysterious  waves  of  kindly  feeling  which  will 
vibrate  upon  the  heart  of  the  solitary  old  man,  to  whom 
earth's  messages  of  love  come  but  seldom — now. 

"  Have  I  ever  told  you  that  I  have  not  a  relative  on 
earth,  and  that  I  have  outlived  all  my  own  friends  ? 
I  sometimes  feel  to  be  like  these  old  monuments  on 
the  banks  of  Nile,  which  stand  calm  and  impassive 
whilst  the  children  of  this  age  picnic  around  their 
ruins  ;  yet  I  am  no  patriarch,  for  I  have  not  much 
overstepped  the  natural  span  of  man's  existence.  I 
hope  you  may  never  experience  the  sensation,  but  the 
fact  that  you  are  yourself  amongst  earth's  lone  ones 
is  not  the  least  of  the  links  that  connect  you  to  me. 

"  I  stayed  some  weeks  in  Biarritz  .  .  .  but  the 
weather  turned  cold  and  wet,  and  the  doctors  bade  me 


104  WINDYRIDGE 

journey  to  Egypt.  It  is  an  unknown  land  to  my 
material  senses,  but  not  to  my  spiritual.  Every  stone 
preaches  to  me  of  the  familiar  past.  I  have  always 
revelled  in  ancient  history  and  have  kept  abreast  of 
modern  discovery  and  research.  For  a  while  I  enjoyed 
the  company  of  my  imagination,  and  we  trod  together 
the  courts  and  temple  corridors  of  the  mighty  kings 
of  ancient  days,  and  reconstructed  their  history.  Some- 
times, for  brief  periods,  I  have  interesting  conversa- 
tions with  men  who  are  learned  in  all  this  lore  ;  but 
imagination  and  learning  are  but  cold  companions, 
and  I  am  longing  for  a  hand-grasp  and  the  look  of 
love — longing,  like  the  modern  woman  of  whom 
Derwent  speaks — for  the  unattainable. 

"  I  am  half  ashamed  of  myself  for  writing  in  this 
strain,  and  half  afraid  of  bringing  a  shadow  over  the 
spirit  of  the  gentle  soul  whose  sympathy  I  seek  ;  but  you 
must  not  worry  on  my  account,  for  I  am  neither  morbid 
nor  unhappy,  though  sadness  usually  walks  by  my  side. 
Indeed,  life  is  strangely  and  even  unaccountably  dear 
to  me  just  now,  though  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  the 
'  call  '  is  not  far  away,  and  when  it  comes  I  shall  pass 
behind  the  curtain  and  face  the  unknown  without 
fear  and  without  regret. 

"  Of  late  I  have  caught  myself  wondering  whether  I 
shall  ever  return  home  and  see  the  brown  and  purple 
moors  again,  and  the  homely  people  whom  I  love  ; 
and  when  the  thought  that  I  may  not  do  so  grips  me 
I  have  just  one  overwhelming  desire — a  curious  desire 
for  the  '  archaeological  old  fossil  '  I  am  generally  taken 


GINTY   RUNS   AWAY  105 

to  be.  Perhaps  I  am  becoming  weak  and  sentimental, 
but  when  the  time  comes  and  I  have  to  go,  I  want 
someone  who  cares  for  me  to  '  see  me  off.'  I  should 
like  my  eyes  to  close  to  the  sound  of  a  woman's  voice, 
I  should  like  to  feel  the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand,  and 
maybe  the  kiss  of  a  woman's  lips  ;  and  I  should  like  a 
few  verses  of  Scripture  and  a  simple  hymn. 

"  I  am  an  old  fool,  but  the  thought  brings  sweetness 
and  peace  with  it  ;  and  it  is  as  a  father  to  a  daughter 
that  I  ask  this  boon  of  you  :  When  I  hear  the  summons, 
will  you  come  to  me  ?  Whether  I  am  at  home  or 
abroad  will  you  do  me  this  service  for  love's  sake  ? 
I  have  no  claim  upon  anyone,  and  certainly  none  upon 
you,  but  my  heart  calls  for  you,  and  I  believe  yours 
will  answer  the  call. 

"  For  the  present,  letters  addressed  to  the  British 
Post  Office,  Cairo,  will  be  forwarded  to  me,  for  I  have 
no  fixed  address,  but  I  shall  look  eagerly  for  your 
reply.  Let  me  say  in  one  word  that  I  shall  make 
provision  for  the  expense  of  your  journey  if  I  should 
send  for  you,  and  I  shall  not  send  unless  the  call  is  clear. 

"  And  now  tell  me  of  Windyridge  .  .  .  Write  to  me 
when  you  can  :  give  me  all  the  news  ;  tell  me  how  the 
great  quest  for  peace  progresses,  and  believe  that  I  am 
ever, 

"  Your  very  sincere  friend, 

"  GEORGE  EVANS." 

Womanlike,  I  watered  this  missive  with  my  tears, 
but  they  were  April  showers,  after  all,  with  great 


io6  WINDYRIDGE 

patches  of  blue  sky  in  between,  and  plenty  of  warm 
sunshine  ;  for  it  was  sweet  to  know  that  I  was  cared 
for  and  that  someone  wanted  me. 

I  hope  none  would  mistake  me.  I  am  an  emotional 
goose  at  times,  I  know,  but  thank  goodness  !  I  am 
no  sentimentalist.  I  am  not  possessed  with  the  idea 
that  the  squire  wants  to  marry  me  and  leave  me  his 
fortune,  for  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  he  does  not.  I 
heard  his  voice  the  night  before  he  went  away,  and  it 
told  me  the  secret  of  his  fidelity.  Besides,  I  wouldn't 
marry  him  if  he  did  want  it,  for  though  my  heart  tells 
me  that  I  have  loved  him  instinctively  from  the  first 
day  of  our  acquaintance,  and  I  love  him  now  more 
than  ever,  it  also  tells  me  that  the  affection  is  filial  and 
nothing  more.  What  more  should  it  be  ?  It  is  all 
the  more  likely  to  be  unselfish  and  sincere  on  both 
sides  that  it  has  nothing  of  passion  in  it.  You  see, 
unlike  Widow  Robertshaw,  I  am  not  eager  to  change 
my  state. 

As  to  my  decision,  I  did  not  hesitate  for  one  moment. 
When  he  needs  me  I  will  go  to  him  and,  God  helping 
me,  I  will  act  a  daughter's  part.  Act  ?  Nay,  rather, 
I  will  do  a  daughter's  loving  duty. 

I  wrote  him  yesterday,  telling  him  all  the  news  of 
the  little  world  of  Windyridge,  but  painting  the 
shadows  lightly.  In  truth,  they  are  heavy  and  full  of 
gloom  just  now. 

I  had  just  commenced  work  in  my  studio  after 
reading  the  squire's  letter  when  Sar'-Ann  burst  in  upon 
me,  and  throwing  herself  into  one  of  my  ornamental 


GINTY  RUNS  AWAY  107 

chairs  commenced  to  cry  and  sob  hysterically,  holding 
her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  rocking  her  body  to  and  fro 
in  a  frenzy  of  abandonment.  I  saw  there  was  trouble 
of  some  sort,  but  recognised  at  the  same  time  the  need 
of  firmness. 

"  Sar'-Ann,"  I  said,  "you  will  break  that  chair  if 
you  carry  on  in  that  fashion.  Restrain  yourself,  and 
tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

Restraint  and  Sar'-Ann,  however,  were  strangers 
to  each  other,  and  her  only  response  was  to  redouble 
her  groans,  until  I  lost  patience. 

"  If  you  don't  stop  this  noise,  Sar'-Ann,"  Ithreatened, 
"  I  will  get  you  a  strong  dose  of  sal- volatile  and  make 
you  drink  it.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

She  did  hear.  Sal-volatile,  as  a  remedy,  had  been 
unknown  in  Windyridge  before  my  advent,  but  the  few 
who  had  experienced  it  had  not  remained  silent 
witnesses  to  its  power,  so  that  the  very  dread  of  the 
strange  drug  had  been  known  to  perform  miraculously 
sudden  cures  in  certain  cases  ;  and  "  that  sally-stuff 
o'  Miss  Holden's  "  had  become  a  word  to  charm  with. 

Sar'-Ann's  groans  subsided,  but  her  breast  heaved 
heavily,  and  her  apron  still  concealed  her  face. 

"  Cannot  you  speak,  child  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  is 
the  matter  ?  If  you  want  me  to  help  you,  you  must 
do  more  than  sob  and  cry.  Now  come  1  " 

"  It's  Ginty  !  "  she  stammered  ;  "  he's  run  away 
an'  robbed  his  mother  of  every  penny,  an'  brokken  her 
heart  an'  mine.  Oh,  Ginty  !  Ginty  !  Whatever  shall 
I  do  ?  "  and  the  rocking  and  sobbing  began  again. 


io8  WINDYRIDGE 

I  got  the  sal-volatile  this  time  and  forced  her  to 
swallow  it,  taking  no  heed  of  her  protests.  Mother 
Hubbard  came  in,  too,  and  added  her  entreaties  to  my 
commands  ;  and  after  a  while  she  became  calmer, 
and  then  the  whole  story  came  out. 

Ginty  had  been  mixing  in  bad  company  for  some 
months  past.  Somewhere  in  the  hollow  of  the  moors 
a  couple  of  miles  away  he  had  stumbled  one  Sunday 
upon  a  gambling  school,  conducted,  I  imagine,  by  city 
rogues  who  come  out  here  to  avoid  the  police,  and 
had  been  threatened  with  violence  for  his  unwelcome 
intrusion.  He  had  purchased  immunity  by  joining  the 
school,  and,  unknown  to  everybody  except  Sar'-Ann, 
he  had  visited  it,  Sunday  by  Sunday,  with  unfailing 
regularity,  for  the  greed  of  gain  soon  got  hold  of  him. 
Sometimes  he  had  won  small  sums,  but  more  often 
he  had  lost  all  his  wages  and  even  pledged  his  credit, 
until  he  had  not  known  where  to  turn  for  money. 

"  I  gave  'im  all  I  had,"  said  Sar'-Ann,  "  an'  I  begged 
him  to  drop  it,  but  he  said  he  couldn't,  an'  he'd  only 
to  go  on  long  enough  to  be  sure  to  get  it  all  back  an' 
more  to  it.  An'  now,  oh  dear !  oh  dear !  he's 
robbed  his  poor  mother  an'  made  off ;  an'  whatever 
I'm  goin'  to  do  I  don't  know.  O  God  !  I  wish  I  was 
dead  1  " 

I  left  Mother  Hubbard  to  console  the  stricken  girl, 
fearing  in  my  heart  that  she  had  not  revealed  the  extent 
of  her  trouble,  and  went  straight  to  Ginty's  cottage, 
where  a  half-dozen  women  were  doing  their  best  to 
comfort  the  poor  mother,  bereaved  of  her  only  support 


GINTY   RUNS   AWAY  109 

by  what  was  worse  than  death.  Children  were  there, 
too,  their  fingers  in  their  mouths  and  their  eyes  wide 
with  wonder,  staring  vacantly  at  the  object  of  universal 
commiseration,  and  silent  in  the  presence  of  a  sorrow 
they  could  feel  but  not  understand. 

The  little  garden  was  gay  from  end  to  end  with  multi- 
coloured crocuses,  and  two  or  three  men  stood  looking 
at  them,  not  daring  to  venture  within  the  house,  but 
ready  to  offer  help  if  required.  One  of  them  muttered  : 
"  Bad  job,  this,  miss  !  "  as  I  passed  ;  and  the  rest 
moved  their  heads  in  affirmation. 

Ginty's  mother  was  seated  at  the  little  round  table, 
her  head  in  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  an  old 
cash  box  in  front  of  her.  The  lid  was  thrown  back  and 
the  box  was  empty.  The  picture  told  its  own  story  ; 
and  to  complete  it  a  framed  photograph  of  Ginty, 
which  I  had  given  him  only  a  few  weeks  previously, 
hung  upon  the  wall  opposite,  so  that  the  author  and 
his  work  were  closely  associated. 

The  women  turned  as  I  entered,  and  began  to  explain 
and  discuss  the  situation  before  the  poor  woman  who 
was  its  victim,  in  that  seemingly  callous  manner  with 
which  the  poor  cloak  and  yet  express  their  sympathy. 

"  Them's  best  off  as  has  no  bairns,"  said  the  black- 
smith's wife  ;  "  ye  moil  an'  toil  for  'em,  an'  bring  'em 
up  through  their  teethin'  an'  all  make  o'  ailments,  an' 
lay  down  yer  varry  life  for  'em,  an'  this  is  how  they  pay 
you  back  in  t'  end." 

"  Ay  "  said  Sar'-Ann's  mother,  "  shoo'll  hev  to  be 
thankful  'at  it's  no  worse.  So  far  as  I  know  he's  ta'en 


no  WINDYRIDGE 

nob'dy's  money  but  'er's,  so  I  don't  suppose  t'  police 
'11  be  after  'im.  Eh  !  but  it's  a  sad  job  an'  all,  an'  he 
were  bahn  to  wed  our  Sar'-Ann  in  a  toathree  week. 
Well,  it's  a  rare  good  job  for  'er  'at  it's  happened  afore 
they  were  wed,  rayther  than  at  after." 

"  But  whatiwer  is  shoo  goin'  to  do  now  'at  Ginty's 
gone  ?  "  inquired  the  next  door  neighbour,  Susannah  ; 
"  Ginty  kept  'er,  an'  shoo  can't  do  nowt,  not  wi'  them 
rheumatics  in  her  legs,  an'  all  that  pile  o'  money  gone. 
Nay,  'Lizabeth,  lass,  I  nivver  thowt  ye'd  scraped  so 
mich  together.  It  'ud  ha'  served  ye  nicely  for  yer  old 
age,  but  ye  sud  ha'  put  it  in  a  bank.  Whatiwer  ye 're 
bahn  to  do  now,  God  only  knows." 

"  We  must  see  what  can  be  done,"  I  interposed. 
"  We  must  all  be  her  friends  now  that  this  trouble  has 
come  upon  her,  and  do  not  let  us  add  to  her  distress  by 
our  discussion.  You  will  let  us  help  you,  won't  you  ?  " 
I  asked. 

She  did  not  speak  or  move,  but  just  stared  stonily 
into  the  empty  box  ;  one  would  have  said  that  she 
had  not  even  heard. 

I  withdrew  my  hand  as  Susannah  came  forward. 
Susannah  is  a  good  woman,  with  a  kind  heart,  and  had 
known  'Lizabeth  all  her  life.  She  knelt  down  on  the 
stone  floor  and  put  an  arm  around  her  neighbour's 
waist. 

"  'Lizabeth,  lass  !  Ye  munnot  tak'  on  like  this. 
'E'll  be  comin'  back  i'  now.  It's  'appen  nowt  but  a 
bit  of  a  marlackin',  an'  ye  shall  come  an'  live  wi'  us 
while  'e  turns  up.  Now  what  say  ye  ?  " 


GINTY   RUNS   AWAY  in 

The  mother's  mouth  set  hard  and  her  brow  con- 
tracted. 

"  I  shall  go  into  t'  work'us,  Susannah  ;  where  else 
should  I  go  ?  " 

There  was  a  murmur  of  dissent,  broken  by  Susannah's : 

"  No,  no,  lass,  nowt  o'  t'  sort.  Ye '11  come  an'  live 
wi'  us  ;  one  mouth  more  '11  none  mak'  that  difference, 
an'  Mr.  Evans  '11  be  back  i'  now  an'  put  things  straight 
for  ye." 

"Do  ye  think,  Susannah,  'at  your  lasses  '11  want  to 
live  wi'  a  thief's  mother,  an'  do  ye  think  'at  I'll  let 
'em  ?  Ginty's  a  thief,  an'  all  t'  worse  thief  because 
he's  robbed  his  own  mother,  an'  left  'er  to  starve.  But 
I  won't  be  beholden  to  none  of  ye  ;  I  never  'ave  been, 
an'  I  never  will  be.  I've  worked  hard  while  I  could 
work,  an'  I've  saved  what  I  could  an'  lived  careful,  so 
as  I  wouldn't  need  to  be  beholden  to  nob'dy  ;  an'  if 
Ginty  has  robbed  me  of  my  all  'e  shall  'ave  a  pauper 
for  his  mother,  an'  'e  shall  'ear  tell  of  'er  in  a  pauper's 
grave.  I  thank  ye  kindly,  neighbours,  but  ye  must 
all  go  an'  leave  me,  for  I  amn't  wantin'  any  comp'ny 
just  now." 

I  saw  that  I  could  not  be  of  service  just  then,  so  I 
came  away  with  some  of  the  other  women,  intending 
to  go  again  on  the  morrow.  But  though  I  went  im- 
mediately after  breakfast  I  found  that  she  had  gone. 

"  She  was  off  afore  I'd  well  got  t'  fire  lit,"  said  Mrs. 
Smithies,  who  was  my  informant  ;  "  I  looked  across 
an'  chanced  to  see  'er  open  t'  door  and  pull  it  to  behind 
'er.  She  didn't  lock  it  nor  nowt,  just  like  snecked  it. 


H2  WINDYRIDGE 

She  had  a  bundle  in  a  red  handkercher  in  'er  'and,  an' 
such  a  'ard  look  on  her  face,  an'  she  never  once  glanced 
be'ind  nor  at  all  them  grand  flowers,  but  just  kept  'er 
eyes  straight  afore  'er. 

"  But  I  runs  out  an'  I  says  :  '  Nay  'Lizabeth,  wherever 
are  ye  off,  like  ?  '  An'  she  says,  '  I'm  off  to  t'  workus, 
so  good-bye,  'Becca  ;  an'  if  there's  ought  in  t'  'ouse 
after  t'  landlord's  paid,  you  neighbours  are  all  welcome 
to  't.'  Not  'at  I'd  touch  ought  there  is,  miss,  unless 
it  were  that  chiney  ornament  on  t'  mantelpiece,  which 
I  could  like  if  it  were  goin'  a-beggin'. 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  'elp  cryin'  a  bit,  an'  I  axed  'er 
if  she  wouldn't  change  'er  mind,  but  she  were  same  as 
if  she  were  turned  to  stone.  So  I  went  up  t'  road  wi' 
her  a  bit,  just  a  piece  beyond  t'  'All  gates,  an'  there  she 
turned  me  back.  '  Good-bye,  'Becca,'  she  says,  'an' 
thank  God  on  yer  knees  'at  ye've  no  son  to  rob  his 
mother  !  An'  if  my  lad  ever  comes  back,  tell  'im  he'll 
find  his  mother  in  a  pauper's  grave.' " 

I  walked  down  the  fields  into  the  sanctuary  of  the 
wood,  where  understanding  is  sometimes  to  be  found 
and  freedom  from  painful  thoughts.  It  was  bitterly 
cold,  but  the  sky  was  blue,  so  that  in  the  clear  atmo- 
sphere every  twig  stood  out  with  microscopic  sharpness, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  miss  the  note  of  hope  in  the 
song  of  new-born  spring. 

The  trees  were  for  the  most  part  bare  of  colour — oak 
and  elm  and  beech  were  alike  in  the  grey  garb  of  winter 
— but  the  sycamores  had  burst  their  buds  and  were 


GINTY      RUNS   AWAY  113 

clad  in  living  green  that  delighted  the  eye  and  quickened 
the  pulse,  whilst  great  blotches  of  yellow  celandine 
blazed  in  the  sunshine  of  the  open  spaces  like  cloth 
of  gold. 

But  the  wood  was  voiceless  at  first  to  the  question 
of  my  heart,  and  I  told  myself  that  the  "  Why  ?  "  of 
life  is  unanswerable.  Then  suddenly  there  came  into 
my  mind  the  familiar  words  of  Tennyson  : 

"  Behold,  we  know  not  anything  ; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last — far  off — at  last,  to  all, 
And  every  winter  change  to  spring," 

and  at  a  bound  my  Inner  Self  found  firm  ground  again. 

"Grace,"  I  said,  "have  you  forgotten  the  closing 

verse  of  a  preceding  stanza  ?  "  and  I  repeated  aloud  : 

"  So  fret  not,  like  an  idle  girl, 

That  life  is  dash'd  with  flecks  of  sin. 
Abide  :  thy  wealth  is  gathered  in 
When  time  hath  sundered  shell  from  pearl," 

and  I  determined  to  conquer  my  morbid  tendencies 
and  take  a  broader  outlook  on  life.  "  An  idle  girl  !  " 
That  stuck.  "  Ineffective  depression  is  a  kind  of  idle- 
ness," I  said  to  myself,  "  and  I  will  kill  it  with 
industry." 

In  obedience  to  this  impulse  I  rose  to  my  feet,  and 
saw  Farmer  Goodenough  crossing  the  brook  just  below. 
He  smiled  a  greeting  as  he  came  up,  and  we  walked 
homewards  together. 

"  Now  I  durst  bet  a  new  bonnet  to  a  new  hat,  Miss 
'Olden,"  he  began,  "that  I  can  guess  at  twice  why 
you've  come  down  'ere,  an'  I'll  throw  one  guess  away. 


ii4  WINDYRIDGE 

You're  on  what  I  should  call  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'  a 

'  mopin'  expedition  ;  '  now  isn't  that  so  ?  " 

"  But  I  don't  wear  bonnets,  my  dear  sir,"  I  rejoined  ; 
"  and  if  you  should  win  a  new  hat  you  wouldn't  wear 
it,  being  of  such  conservative  leanings.  Nevertheless, 
I  am  going  to  plead  guilty  to  your  indictment,  and  I 
hope  I  shall  be  let  off  with  nothing  worse  than  a 
lecture." 

"  Nay,  it's  none  for  me  to  lecture  anybody,  for  I 
know  as  little  about  the  rights  o'  things  as  I  know  about 
bonnets,  but  I've  lived  long  enough  to  know  'at  '  man's 
born  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upwards,'  as  t'  Owd 
Book  puts  it  ;  an'  if  you're  goin'  to  fret  your  heart 
out  every  time  it  comes  your  way  you'll  spend  your 
life  in  a  mournin'  coach. 

"  'Cordin'  to  my  way  o'  thinkin',  Miss  'Olden,  so 
long  as  human  natur's  what  it  is  you'll  never  get  rid  o' 
sufferin'  an'  trouble,  an'  what  good  does  it  do  to  worrit 
yourself  to  death  over  what  you  can't  mend  ?  If  you 
could  mend  it  ever  so  little  it  'ud  be  another  matter. 
Now  look  at  it  i'  this  way.  We  can  all  choose  our  own 
road  when  it  comes  to  a  question  o'  right  an'  wrong, 
an'  we  should  be  in  a  poor  way  if  we  couldn't.  My 
plough  goes  where  t'  horse  pulls  it,  an'  t'  horse  goes 
where  I  guide  it.  Now,  neither  t'  plough  nor  t'  horse 
has  any  responsibility,  so  to  speak  ;  but  I'd  rather  be  a 
man  an'  have  t'  power  to  choose  where  I  go,  even  if 
I  go  wrong,  nor  be  a  beast  or  a  machine. 

"  Now  yon  lad  has  gone  wrong,  an'  I'm  sorry  for 
'im,  but  accordin'  to  t'  Owd  Book  it's  no  use  cryin' 


GINTY   RUNS   AWAY  115 

over  spilt  milk,  an'  both  'im  an'  us  '11  have  to  make  t' 
best  on  't.  So  will  Sar'-Ann  ;  so  will  Ginty's  mother. 
Ginty  knows  he's  done  wrong,  an'  he's  known  t'  dif- 
ference between  right  an'  wrong  all  along  t'  road. 
He's  chosen,  an'  chosen  badly,  poor  lad,  an'  he's 
sufferin'  for  it,  wherever  he  is,  an  'e'll  have  to  sup  more 
sorrow  still,  there's  no  doubt  about  it,  an'  a  bitter  cup 
it'll  be. 

"  But  don't  you  see,  this  same  bitter  cup  is  med'cine 
for  t'  lad  at  same  time.  He's  gone  into  t'  far  country 
now,  but  like  t'  other  prodigal  he'll  come  to  himself, 
as  t'  Owd  Book  says,  one  o'  these  days,  an'  we  shall 
have  to  leave  him  there  till  that  time  comes. 

"  But  now,  take  t'  lad's  mother.  She's  chosen  her 
own  way  an'  all.  Ginty's  sin  were  greediness  an'  love 
o'  money,  an'  his  mother's  sin  is  pride.  We  haven't 
all  t'  same  nature,  an'  I'm  not  settin'  up  for  a  preacher, 
for  Reuben  Goodenough  doesn't  live  up  to  his  name  by 
a  long  chalk,  so  I'm  not  judgin'  t'  woman,  like  a 
Pharisee. 

"  But  I  know  this,  if  she'd  just  ha'  let  t'  neighbours 
'elp  her  a  bit,  her  'eart  wouldn't  have  been  so  sore,  and 
t'  blow  'ud  have  been  lightened  for  her.  We're  a 
roughish  lot  i'  Windyridge,  but  there  isn't  many  'at 
wouldn't  have  made  shift  to  help  t'  owd  woman  as 
well  as  they  could,  but  she  couldn't  stomach  bein' 
helped. 

"  An'  there's  a  taste  o'  revenge  in  it  too,  unless  I'm 
sadly  mista'en.  She  thinks  she'll  pay  t'  lad  out  better 
wi'  goin'  to  t'  workus  nor  ought  else  she  could  do  ; 


n6  WINDYRIDGE 

an'  she  likes  to  believe  'at  he'll  be  'eart-brokken  if 

she's  put  in  a  pauper's  grave. 

"  That's  how  I  size  things  up.  All  this  trouble 
needn't  have  been,  but  it  is  there,  an'  you  an'  me  has  no 
'casion  to  mope  over  it.  Mopin'  won't  help  neither  of 
'em,  but  I  daresay  we  can  both  'elp  'em  a  bit  if  we  try. 
I'm  goin'  to  see  if  I  can  hear  ought  o'  t'  lad,  an'  if  I 
do  I  shall  follow  'im  up ;  an'  I  shall  do  my  best  to  bring 
a  bit  o'  sense  to  his  mother.  An'  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
miss — well,  you're  a  woman.  Try  what  a  word  o' 
prayer  now  an'  again  '11  do  for  'em,  i'stead  o'  frettin' 
over  'em  ;  an'  '  be  strong  an'  of  a  good  courage.' 
That's  in  t'  Owd  Book,  an'  it's  good  advice." 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE   CYNIC   EXAGGERATES 

EASTER  is  past  and  spring  has  burst  upon  us 
in  all  her  glory.  The  landscape  is  painted  in 
the  freshest  and  daintiest  tints  :  the  beeches 
are  a  sight  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  man ;  the 
chestnuts  with  their  cones  of  cream  and  pink  look  in  the 
distance  like  huge,  newly-replenished  candelabra  ;  the 
slender  birches,  decked  in  silvery  white  and  vivid  green, 
stand  gracefully  erect,  veritable  "  ladies  of  the  woods," 
as  Coleridge  called  them.  Here  and  there  a  blackthorn 
bends  beneath  its  burden  of  snowy  blossom,  and  calls 
a  challenge  to  the  hedgerows  which  have  wakened 
late,  and  are  slow  in  their  dressing. 

Occasionally  primroses  may  be  seen,  though  they  are 
not  common  in  these  parts  ;  but  on  the  banks  of  the 
lower  lane  modest  violets  peep  out  shyly  from  the 
shadows,  and  the  dull  purple  flowers  of  a  species  of 
nettle  offer  their  bashful  welcome  to  spring.  The 
gardens  are  gorgeous  with  daffodils,  and  the  woods  with 
celandine  and  wild  hyacinth ;  whilst  our  humble  friends, 
the  buttercups,  daisies  and  dandelions,  have  sprung 
up  in  abundance,  the  merry  children  of  field  and  way- 
side charming  us  all  with  their  simple  beauty. 

I  spend  almost  all  my  leisure  time  in  watching  the 
birds,  an  occupation  which  is  in  itself  a  never-failing 


n8  WINDYRIDGE 

delight,  and  I  puzzle  myself  with  questions  which  no 
man  can  answer,  but  which  are  imperatively  asked  all 
the  same. 

Who  guides  these  flocks  of  tiny  travellers,  who  have 
journeyed  by  trackless  routes  from  distant  lands 
hundreds  of  miles  away,  depending  only  on  the 
strength  of  their  own  wings,  and  the  mysterious  vital 
power  with  which  God  has  endowed  them  ?  How  do 
they  recognise  the  familiar  haunts  of  a  year  ago  ? 
How  do  they  know  that  the  woods  in  these  northern 
regions  are  ready  for  habitation  ? 

I  give  it  up ;  but  I  love  to  see  them  approach  from  the 
distance  like  a  swiftly-moving  cloud,  and  disappear 
into  the  haze  again  after  circling  over  the  trees  which 
surround  the  Hall ;  and  I  love  to  walk  through  the 
meadows  and  see  how  my  feathered  brothers  and  sisters 
are  making  the  most  of  the  sunshine  and  the  softened 
soil. 

The  blackbird  is  in  full  song  now,  and  it  darts  past 
me  with  its  chirpy  ''  tuck-tuck-tuck  "  ;  whilst  the  lark 
soars  upwards  into  the  azure  with  quivering  song, 
full-throated,  inimitable. 

The  sagacious  rooks  have  been  busy  for  days  past 
with  household  cares,  and  have  gone  about  thieving 
(with  a  clear  conscience,  I  trust)  for  strictly  domestic 
purposes  ;  and  the  thrushes  are  just  as  industrious 
in  their  search  for  dainties  hidden  in  Mother  Earth. 

East  winds  prevail,  and  rheumatism  holds  some  of 
my  neighbours  in  prison  and  in  torment,  but  to  me 
they  bring  exhilaration,  a  voracious  appetite,  and  the 


THE  CYNIC    EXAGGERATES     119 

joy  of  life.  Mother  Hubbard  looks  upon  me  with 
loving  envy  and  sighs  for  the  days  that  are  beyond 
recall. 

Poor  Mother  Hubbard  !  The  hard  winter  has  tried 
her  severely,  but  she  never  complains  and  is  always 
sweet  and  cheerful,  and  promises  herself  and  me  that 
she  will  be  all  right  when  summer  comes.  I  hope  so, 
for  she  has  grown  inexpressibly  dear  to  her  adopted 
daughter  whom  she  does  her  level  best  to  spoil,  and  if 
we  were  parted  now  we  should  miss  each  other  sorely. 

I  have  discovered  that  she  is  an  excellent  chaperon, 
and  enjoys  the  role  beyond  my  power  of  description. 
What  a  remarkable  little  woman  she  is  !  She  knows 
that  I  keep  a  record  of  my  experiences,  and  has  got  it 
into  her  head  that  I  am  writing  a  book,  and  she  is 
therefore  always  on  the  look-out  for  the  appearance 
of  the  hero.  She  has  given  me  to  understand  that  it 
she  can  only  be  in  at  the  denouement,  when  the  hero 
leads  the  blushing  bride  to  the  altar  amid  the  ill- 
restrained  murmur  of  admiration  from  the  crowd,  she 
will  be  then  ready  to  depart  in  peace.  Needless  to 
say,  it  is  /  who  am  to  be  the  blushing  bride  !  It  is  no 
doubt  a  very  pleasing  fancy,  but  I  am  afraid  the  dear 
old  lady  will  have  to  find  contentment  in  an  abstraction. 

What  amuses  me  most  is  her  well-founded  mis- 
giving as  to  my  ability  to  deal  adequately  with  such 
a  situation  in  my  "  book." 

"  You  are  not  very  romantic,  love,"  she  said  to  me 
one  evening,  when  she  had  been  making  unusually  large 
demands  upon  her  imagination,  to  my  considerable 


120  WINDYRIDGE 

amusement,  "  and  I  don't  think  you  will  ever  be  equal 
to  the  greatest  writers  unless  you  cultivate  that  side 
of  your  nature.  You  know,  love,  you  are  rather 
practical  and  common-sense  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  the  men  might  not  know  how  very  nice  you  are." 
She  came  across  and  kissed  me,  hoping  I  did  not  mind 
her  candour. 

"  You  see,  love,  I  was  always  rather  romantic  myself, 
and  I  think  I  could  help  you  a  bit ;  though,  of  course,  I 
am  not  clever  like  you.  But  I  could  just  tell  you  what 
I  think  ought  to  be  put  in,  and  you  could  find  suitable 
language  for  it.  .  .  .  Now  you're  laughing  at  me  !  " 

I  believe  she  thought  the  hero  had  arrived  when  the 
Cynic  turned  up  on  Easter  Monday. 

It  was  a  truly  beautiful  day,  typically  April,  except 
that  the  showers  were  wanting,  and  the  much-abused 
clerk  who  controls  the  Weather  Department  must  have 
been  unusually  complaisant  when  he  crowded  so  many 
pleasing  features  into  his  holiday  programme.  Until 
the  long  shadows  began  to  creep  across  the  fields  it 
was  warm  enough  to  sit  out  in  the  sunshine,  whilst 
there  was  just  sufficient  '*  bite  "  in  the  air  to  make 
exercise  agreeable. 

Every  cottage  garden  had  on  its  gala  clothing  and 
smiled  a  friendly  welcome  to  the  passer-by,  and  a 
sky  that  was  almost  really  blue  bent  over  a  landscape 
of  meadow,  moor  and  wood  that  was  a  perfect  fantasy 
in  every  delicate  shade  of  green.  And  the  beasts  of 
the  field  and  the  fowls  of  the  air  lifted  up  their  voices 
in  their  several  degrees  of  melody. 


THE   CYNIC    EXAGGERATES     121 

It  had  been  a  glorious  Easter  Day,  and  perhaps  on 
that  account  I  had  risen  early  on  the  Monday  and  gone 
out  bareheaded  to  catch  the  Spirit  of  the  Morning. 
Farmer  Goodenough  passed  as  I  stood  at  the  gate, 
and  threw  one  of  his  hearty  greetings  over  his  shoulder 
without  pausing  in  his  walk. 

"  Look  out  for  customers  to-day,  Miss  'Olden ! 
There'll  be  scores  in  t'  village  this  afternoon  from 
Broadbeck  way." 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  want  them,  Mr.  Goodenough," 
I  replied  ;  "it's  holiday  to-day." 

"  That  'ud  be  a  sin,"  he  shouted  ;  "  '  make  hay 
while  t'  sun  shines,'  as  t'  Owd  Book  says,  holiday  or 
no  holiday." 

There  was  sense  in  this.  Customers  had  so  far  been 
scarce  enough,  for  I  had  been  favoured  with  the  patron- 
age of  only  three  paying  sitters,  although  I  had  been 
established  in  business  for  eight  months.  My  total 
takings  from  the  portraiture  branch  had  not  totalled 
thirty  shillings  ;  and  if  my  neighbours  had  not  grown 
accustomed  to  it,  the  sign  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden 
must  have  appeared  very  ridiculous  indeed.  I  there- 
fore anticipated  the  arrival  of  excursionists  with  no 
little  eager  interest. 

Half  a  dozen  houses  in  the  village  had  got  out  brand 
new  boards  indicating  that  Teas  were  provided  within, 
and  I  knew  that  from  this  date  forward  until  the 
autumn  a  very  brisk  trade  would  be  done  on  sunny 
Saturday  afternoons  and  holidays. 

Soon  after  half-past  twelve  I  caught  sight   of  the 


122  WINDYRIDGE 

advance  guard  approaching.  The  footpaths  between 
Windyridge  and  Marsland  Moor  became  dotted  with 
microscopic  moving  figures  which  materialised  usually 
into  male  and  female,  walking  two  and  two,  even  as 
they  went  into  the  ark,  as  Widow  Robertshaw  might 
have  observed. 

When  they  reached  the  village  street  the  sight  of  my 
studio  seemed  to  astonish  them  and  tickle  their  fancy. 
"  In  the  spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to 
thoughts  of  love  " — and  portraiture.  Quite  a  group 
of  young  people  gathered  about  my  sign  before  two 
o'clock,  and  from  that  time  until  five  I  never  sat  down 
for  one  minute.  As  fast  as  I  bowed  out  one  couple 
another  entered,  amid  a  fusillade  of  good-humoured 
chaff  and  curtly-expressed  injunctions  to  "  be  quick 
about  it."  I  took  so  much  money,  comparatively 
speaking,  in  three  short  hours  that  I  began  to  see  visions 
and  dream  dreams — but  the  Cynic  dispelled  them. 

He  was  standing  in  the  garden,  talking  to  Mother 
Hubbard,  when  I  locked  up  the  studio,  and  although 
he  was  in  shorts  I  recognised  him  at  once,  for  thus 
had  I  seen  him  in  my  dream.  I  involuntarily  glanced 
at  myself  to  make  sure  that  I  was  correctly  garbed  and 
that  it  was  really  the  key,  and  not  Madam  Rusty's 
teapot  that  I  held  in  my  hand. 

He  came  forward  smilingly  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Holden  ?  I  had  intended 
asking  you  to  take  my  photograph,  but  competition  for 
your  favour  was  so  keen  that  the  modesty  which  has 
always  been  my  curse  forced  me  to  the  background." 


THE   CYNIC    EXAGGERATES     123 

"  If  it  had  forced  you  to  the  background  you  would 
have  entered  my  studio,  Mr.  Derwent,"  I  replied  ; 
"  all  those  who  have  competed  successfully  for  my 
favour  were  not  deterred  by  dread  of  the  background. 
I  fear,  however,  it  is  now  too  late  to  endeavour  to 
encourage  you  to  overcome  your  bashf ulness. " 

"  Indeed,  yes  : 

"  '  The  shadows  of  departing  day 
Creep  on  once  more.1 

as  the  poet  hath  it,  and  when  one  has  walked  eight 
or  nine  miles  across  the  moors  the  man  within  cries 
out  for  food  and  drink  even  more  than  for  art.  And 
therefore  I  have  ventured  to  introduce  myself  to  Mrs. 
Hubbard  and  to  inquire  if  she  would  make  me  a  cup 
of  tea,  and  she  has  very  kindly  consented  to  do  so." 

I  looked  at  Mother  Hubbard,  who  had  sufficient 
sense  of  the  appropriate  to  blush  very  becomingly. 

"  You  old  sinner  !  "  I  said,  "  how  dare  you  impose 
upon  my  good  nature  !  Are  there  so  few  neighbours 
of  ours  who  cater  professionally  for  the  requirements 
of  these  '  men  within  '  that  we  must  needs  enter  into 
competition  with  them  ?  " 

Mother  Hubbard's  nods  and  winks  became  so  alarm- 
ingly expressive,  however,  during  the  course  of  my 
speech,  that  I  was  in  real  danger  of  becoming  confused, 
so  I  turned  to  our  guest  and  extricated  myself. 

"  Be  pleased  to  enter  our  humble  abode,  to  which 
we  make  you  heartily  welcome.  And  in  return  for 
such  poor  hospitality  as  we  can  offer  you,  you  shall 
regulate  the  clock,  which  has  lately  developed  certain 


124  WINDYRIDGE 

eccentricities,  and  nail  up  the  creeper  on  the  gable 
end.  Then  if  time  permits  you  shall  rest  your  limbs 
on  the  wicker  chair  in  the  garden  and  enlighten  us  as 
to  what  is  going  on  in  the  world  of  men." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  he  agreed,  "  and  I  promise  to 
make  so  good  a  tea  that  the  debt  will  not  be  easily 
repaid." 

He  did  pretty  well,  I  must  admit,  and  when  it  was 
over  Mother  Hubbard,  with  a  self-conscious  cough, 
and  a  look  that  was  eloquence  itself,  expressed  her 
fixed  determination  to  clear  away  without  my  help. 

"It's  just  a  little  fancy  I  have,  love,"  she  protested, 
as  I  tied  on  my  apron  ;  "  I  really  would  like  to  do  it  all 
myself.  I  am  tired  of  sitting,  and  knitting  seems  to 
try  my  eyes  to-day." 

"  Mother  Hubbard,"  I  replied,  "  you  are  a  hypo- 
critical old  humbug,  and  you  are  wanting  to  persuade 
Mr.  Derwent  that  I  am  not  domesticated,  which  is  too 
bad  of  you.  And  you  know  that  I  take  my  share  of  the 
work." 

"  Really,  love,"  said  Mother  Hubbard,  who  was 
almost  in  tears  at  the  denseness  of  my  intelligence, 
"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Derwent  will  understand  my  meaning." 

I  am  only  too  much  afraid  that  he  did,  for  he  looked 
at  me  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  said,  with  a 
merry  twinkle  which  was  provoking : 

"  I  shall  certainly  need  some  information  about  the 
clock,  and  a  little  assistance  with  the  creeper.  Miss 
Holden,  you  had  better  yield  to  Mrs.  Hubbard's 
wishes." 


THE   CYNIC   EXAGGERATES     125 

"  If  you  cannot  regulate  a  clock  without  a  woman 
standing  over  you,  or  hold  a  bit  of  jasmine  in  one  hand 
and  a  hammer  in  the  other  without  a  woman's  assist- 
ance, you  deserve  to  remain  in  your  ridiculous  back- 
ground. You  will  find  the  tools  in  the  top  drawer  of 
the  dresser.  If  you  will  be  good  enough  to  get  them 
and  go  on  with  your  work,  Mother  Hubbard  and  I  will 
soon  finish  ours." 

He  grinned,  and  Mother  Hubbard  groaned  ;  but 
before  long  we  were  sitting  together  in  the 
garden,  with  the  knitting  needles  making  music  as 
usual. 

The  Cynic  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  watched  the 
blue  smoke  curl  lazily  from  his  cigarette.  The  laughter 
of  the  visitors  had  ceased  in  the  streets,  but  the  voice 
of  song  was  wafted  occasionally  to  our  ears  from  the 
fields  below.  How  is  it  that  homeward-bound  excur- 
sionists always  sing  ? 

"  I  take  it,  Miss  Holden,  that  you  are  a  Prototype, 
which  I  spell  in  capitals.  But  I  venture  .to  predict 
that  you  will  not  have  a  large  following.  The  modern 
craze  is  for  kudos,  and  in  this  particular  the  success 
of  an  enterprise  like  yours  is  not  likely  to  be 
remarkable." 

"  What,  exactly,  is  my  enterprise  ?  "  I  inquired. 
"  Please  interpret  me  to  myself." 

"  The  surface  reading  is  easy,"  he  replied,  "  but  the 
significance  is  hieroglyphic.  Who  can  read  the  riddle 
of  woman's  motives  ?  They  are  past  finding  out,  and 
man  can  only  grope  for  the  meaning  with  half-blind 


i26  WINDYRIDGE 

observation,  having  eyes  indeed,  but  seeing  not  ;  hear- 
ing, but  not  understanding." 

"  As,  for  instance  ?  "  I  again  inquired. 

"  I  will  come  to  your  case  shortly,"  he  continued, 
"  and  meantime  I  will  speak  in  parables.  I  went  into 
a  fashionable  draper's  shop  the  other  day,  as  I  had 
business  with  one  of  the  principals.  He  was  engaged, 
and  I  elected  to  wait  and  was  accommodated  with  a 
seat  near  the  glove  counter.  My  experiences  were 
distinctly  interesting,  but  I  cannot  yet  read  the  riddle 
they  offered  me.  Before  I  was  summoned  to  the  office 
three  customers  had  approached  the  counter  at  separate 
times,  and  the  procedure  was  in  all  three  cases  on 
approximately  similar  lines. 

"  The  lady  sailed  up  to  the  counter,  deposited  her 
parcels  upon  it,  seated  herself  upon  the  waiting  chair» 
adjusted  her  skirt,  and  then,  turning  to  the  deferential 
young  gentleman  whose  head  was  inclined  artistically 
to  one  side  in  the  way  that  is  characteristic  of  the  most 
genteel  establishments,  murmured  languidly  :  '  Gloves, 
please.' 

"The  deferential  young  gentleman  brought  his  head 
to  the  perpendicular  and  replied :  '  Gloves  !  Yes, 
madam,'  and  proceeded  to  reach  down  a  half-dozen 
boxes  from  the  shelves  at  his  back. 

"  '  This,  madam,'  he  said,  bringing  forth  a  pair  of 
grey  suedes,  '  is  a  beautiful  glove.  One  of  Flint's 
very  best  make,  and  they  are  produced  specially  for 
our  firm.  Every  pair  is  guaranteed.  We  can  very 
strongly  recommend  them.' 


THE   CYNIC   EXAGGERATES     127 

"  The  lady  took  the  gloves  in  her  hand,  stretched 
them,  and  examined  them  slowly  and  critically, 
whilst  the  D.Y.G.'s  head  dropped  to  the  artistic  angle 
again. 

"  After  having  eyed  them  in  silence  for  a  minute  or 
more,  and  half  conveyed  the  impression  that  they  were 
the  very  gloves  she  was  seeking,  the  lady  placed  them 
without  a  word  on  the  counter,  and  the  D.Y.G.  with 
perfect  understanding  replaced  them  in  the  box. 

"  He  opened  another  box  containing  suede  gloves 
in  tan. 

"  '  This  also  is  an  excellent  glove,  madam/  he 
repeated,  with  all  the  precision  of  a  gramophone ;  '  it 
is  one  of  our  best  selling  lines,  and  its  wearing  qualities 
are  unsurpassed.  You  may  buy  more  expensive 
gloves,  but  none  of  better  value.' 

"  This  pair  is  subjected  to  the  same  slow  and  critical 
examination,  after  which  the  lady  inquires  : 

"  '  What  is  the  price  ?  ' 

"  '  The  price  of  these  gloves,  madam,  is  seven-and- 
six.'  Professing  to  confirm  his  statement  by  minutely 
examining  the  ticket,  though,  of  course,  he  is  per- 
fectly well  aware  that  there  is  no  mistake,  he  repeats  : 
'  Yes,  madam,  seven -and-six.' 

"  Again  the  gloves  are  laid  upon  the  counter,  and 
again  the  D.Y.G.  replaces  the  lid  and  attacks  another 
box  !  Meanwhile  the  lady's  gaze  is  wandering  ab- 
stractedly around  the  shop  ;  picking  out  an  acquaint- 
ance here  and  there  she  smiles  a  recognition  ;  and  she 
seems  a  little  vexed  when  a  third  pair  of  gloves  is 


ia8  WINDYRIDGE 

placed  before  her.  The  same  performance  follows, 
with  the  same  serenity  on  both  sides,  but  the  price 
has  dropped  to  five  shillings. 

"  Then  the  kids  are  produced,  in  all  shades  and  at 
all  prices,  and  are  in  turn  deposited  upon  the  counter 
without  comment. 

"  At  last  the  D.Y.G.  has  exhausted  his  stock  and  his 
familiar  recitations,  but  fortunately  not  his  urbanity, 
and  he  looks  at  his  customer  with  deprecation  in  his 
eyes. 

"  '  You  had  some  white  kid  gloves  in  the  window 
a  week  or  two  ago,'  she  murmurs,  smiling  sweetly ; 
'  ten  buttons  ;  they  were  a  special  price,  I  think.' 

"  '  Two-and-eleven,  madam  ?  '  he  asks,  hopefully. 

"  '  I  believe  they  were.  Yes,  two-and-eleven,'  she 
responds,  as  though  consideration  had  confirmed  her 
recollection  ;  and  in  two  minutes  more  her  wants  are 
satisfied,  and  she  departs  to  another  counter  to  the 
performance  of  Scene  2  in  the  same  act." 

"  And  this  is  typical  of  woman's  methods  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  It  serves  to  show,"  he  replies,  "  how  unfathomable 
her  methods  are  to  mere  man.  When  we  unimaginative 
mortals  enter  a  shop  for  a  similar  purpose  we  say  : 

" '  I  want  a  pair  of  tan  kids,  seven  and  three-quarters, 
about  three-and-six,'  and  before  the  current  of  cold 
air  which  came  in  with  us  has  circulated  round  the 
shop,  we  are  going  out  with  the  little  parcel  in  our 
pocket.  Now  why  does  not  woman  do  the  same  ? 
You  don't  know — nobody  knows ;  nobody  really 
wants  to  know,  or  to  see  her  act  otherwise." 


THE   CYNIC   EXAGGERATES     129 

"  It  is  a  very  silly  exaggeration,"  I  said,  "  and  if  it  is 
characteristic  of  your  methods  they  are  certainly  not 
past  finding  out." 

The  Cynic  is  really  a  very  irritating  person.  He  has 
a  way  of  ignoring  your  rejoinders  which  is  most  annoy- 
ing, and  makes  you  want  to  rise  up  and  shake  him. 
Besides,  it  isn't  courteous. 

"  Now  to  return  to  your  own  case,  Miss  Holden.  It 
is  not  typical  and  therefore  I  call  it  prototypical. 
Why  you  have  forsaken  London  society  (which  in  this 
case  I  spell  with  a  small  '  s,'  to  guard  against  possible 
repudiation)  is  possibly  known  to  yourself,  though 
personally  I  doubt  it.  Why,  having  found  the  hermit- 
age and  the  simple  life,  you  have  adopted  photography 
as  a  profession  in  a  village  where  you  will  be  fortunate 
if  you  make  an  annual  profit  of  ten  pounds  is  another 
enigma.  But  kudos  is  not  everything,  and  I  see  in  you 
the  archetype  of  a  race  of  women  philosophers  of  whom 
the  world  stands  sorely  in  need." 

"  You  talk  like  a  book,"  I  said,  "  and  use  mighty 
big  words  which  in  my  case  need  the  interpretation 
of  a  dictionary,  but  I'm  afraid  they  cover  a  good  deal 
of  rubbish,  which  is  typical,  if  I  may  say  so,  of  the 
ordinary  conversation  of  the  modern  smart  man." 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  but  I  am  in  downright  earnest. 
For  every  effect  there  must  be  an  adequate  cause. 
You  may  not  understand  yourself.  The  why  and 
wherefore  of  your  action  may  be  hard  to  discover, 
but  I  was  wrong  when  I  said  that  it  was  unfathomable* 
Given  skill  and  perseverance,  the  most  subtle  compound 


130  WINDYRIDGE 

must  yield  its  analysis,  but  it  is  not  given  to  every  man 
to  submit  a  woman's  actions  to  the  test,  and  I  beg  you 
to  believe  that  I  was  not  impertinent  enough  to  make 
any  such  suggestion." 

"  Nevertheless,"  I  said,  "  I  may  some  day  allow 
you  to  put  my  actions  into  the  crucible,  and  see  if  you 
can  find  my  real  motives.  I  confess  I  do  not  under- 
stand myself,  and  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  think 
I  should  rather  like  to  be  analysed." 

"  Then  I  may  come  again  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  may  come  to  be  photographed,  of  course,"  I 
replied. 

I  wonder  how  old  he  is,  and  what  he  does  ! 


CHAPTER    XIII 

WHITSUNTIDE    EXPERIENCES 

NEW  sensations  have  elbowed  and  jostled  each 
other  to  secure  my  special  attention  this 
Whitsuntide,  until  I  have  been  positively 
alarmed  for  my  mental  equilibrium.  The  good  people 
here  seem  so  sedate  on  ordinary  occasions  that  one 
fails  to  realise  that  after  all  there  is  a  good  deal  of  the 
peacock  and  the  kitten  in  the  make-up  of  many  of 
them  ;  but  Whitsuntide  reveals  this. 

The  peacock  in  them  manifests  itself  as  they  strut 
up  and  down  in  new  clothing  of  brilliant  dye,  affecting 
an  unconsciousness  and  unconcern  which  deceives 
nobody.  The  shocks  I  received  during  that  memorable 
Sunday,  when  the  village  turned  out  in  its  new  finery, 
I  still  experience,  like  the  after-tremors,  of  an  earth 
quake. 

Pray  do  not  imagine  that  Windyridge  knows  nothing 
of  the  rule  of  fashion.  Every  mother's  daughter, 
though  not  every  daughter's  mother,  owns  her  sway 
and  is  her  devoted  subject.  If  the  imperious  Dame 
bids  her  votaries  hobble,  the  Windyridge  belle  limps 
awkwardly  to  and  fro — on  Sundays  and  feast  days— 
in  proud  and  painful  obedience,  heedless  of  the  un- 
concealed sneers  and  contempt  of  her  elders.  If  head- 
gear after  the  form  of  the  beehive  or  the  castle  of  the 


132  WINDYRIDGE 

termite  ant  is  decreed,  she  counts  it  a  joy,  like  any 
fashionable  lady  of  fortune,  to  suffer  the  eclipse  of  her 
good  looks  under  the  vilest  monstrosity  the  milliner's 
ingenuity  can  devise.  Ah,  me  !  How  fine  a  line, 
after  all,  divides  Windyridge  from  Mayfair  ! 

The  kitten  in  them  gambols  and  makes  fun  whole- 
heartedly for  several  hours  at  a  stretch  on  the  after- 
noon of  Whit  Monday,  and  with  such  kindliness  and 
good  humour  that  one  cannot  help  feeling  that  the 
world  is  very  young  and  one's  self  not  so  very  old 
either. 

I  thought  the  rain  was  going  to  spoil  everything. 
Day  by  day  for  a  week  it  had  come  down  with  a  steady 
determination  that  seemed  to  mean  the  ruin  of  holiday 
prospects.  The  foliage  certainly  looked  all  the  fresher 
for  it,  and  the  ash  took  heart  to  burst  its  black  buds 
and  help  to  swell  the  harmony  of  the  woods.  But 
these  are  aesthetic  considerations  which  do  not  appeal 
to  people  who  are  looking  forward  to  a  good  time — a 
time  of  fun  and  frolic  for  some,  and  harvesting  of 
shekels  for  others. 

When  I  woke  on  the  Sunday,  however,  old  Father 
Sol  had  shaken  off  his  lethargy,  bundled  the  surly 
clouds  into  the  store-room,  locked  the  door  and  put 
the  key  into  his  pocket,  and  strolled  forth  to  enjoy 
the  sight  of  his  welcome.  Meadow,  pasture  and  moor, 
green  hedgerow  and  brown  road  were  silvered  over 
with  sunshine,  and  the  flowers  looked  up  and  laughed 
the  tears  away  from  their  faces,  and  told  themselves 
that  everything  had  been  for  the  best  ;  and  the  cocks 


WHITSUNTIDE   EXPERIENCES  133 

crowed  lustily  from  the  walls  where  they  had  flown  to 
greet  the  sun,  and  all  the  birds  came  out  from  eave  and 
tree  and  lowly  nest,  and  sang  their  do xology  in  happy 
and  tuneful  notes  which  told  how  brimful  they  were  of 

joy- 
Long  before  church-time  it  was  so  hot  that  the  fields 
were  steaming  like  drying  clothes  before  the  fire,  and 
as  I  walked  back  from  Fawkshill  after  the  morning 
service  I  felt  sure  that  there  need  be  no  misgiving  about 
the  dryness  of  the  grass  for  the  children's  treat  on  the 
morrow.  Everybody  was  concerned  for  the  children  ! 
Young  women  of  eighteen  and  young  men  of  the  same 
age  had  no  real  concern  or  interest  in  the  weather 
except  in  so  far  as  it  involved  disappointment  to  the 
children  !  Well,  well !  How  easily  we  deceive  our- 
selves, and  how  unwilling  we  are  to  acknowledge  the 
child  within  the  man  ! 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  chapel  with  Mother 
Hubbard,  and  saw  and  heard  that  which  made  me  want 
to  laugh  and  cry  at  the  same  time,  and  I  really  do  not 
know  why  I  should  have  done  either.  My  emotions 
seem  to  take  holiday  sometimes  and  enjoy  themselves 
in  their  own  peculiar  way  without  restraint.  Let  me 
set  down  my  experiences. 

Do  you  know  what  a  "  sitting-up  "  is  ?  If  you  live 
in  Yorkshire  or  Lancashire  no  doubt  you  do,  but  if 
you  are  a  southerner  or  a  more  northern  northerner 
the  probability  is  that  you  do  not.  When  Mother 
Hubbard  told  me  that  the  children  were  to  "  sit  up  " 
at  the  chapel  on  Whit  Sunday  I  stared  at  her  without 


134  WINDYRIDGE 

understanding.     "  Do  they  usually  stand  up  or  lie 

down  ?  "  I  inquired. 

Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  this  was,  perhaps,  a 
metaphorical  way  of  speaking,  and  that  there  was,  so 
to  speak,  a  "  rod  in  pickle  "  for  the  bairns  on  this 
special  occasion,  but  why  I  could  not  imagine.  Yet 
I  knew  that  when  an  irate  Windyridge  father  under- 
took to  make  his  lad  "  sit  up,"  it  usually  betokened 
some  little  difficulty  in  sitting  at  all  until  the  soreness 
wore  off. 

This,  however,  foreboded  nothing  of  so  unpleasant  a 
nature.  When  I  entered  the  light  and  airy  little 
sanctuary  I  found  thirty  or  forty  children  ranged  in 
rows  one  above  the  other,  in  front  of  the  little  pulpit. 
Not  many  boys  were  there,  and  there  was  nothing 
specially  attractive  about  those  who  were,  beyond  the 
attractiveness  that  lurks  within  the  face  of  every  cleanly- 
washed  child.  But  the  girls  were  a  picture  ;  they  were 
all  in  white,  but  most  of  them  had  coloured  sashes 
round  their  waists,  and  coloured  ribbons  in  their 
hair,  and  one  or  two  were  distinguished  by  black 
adornments,  betokening  the  recent  visit  of  that  guest 
who  is  so  seldom  regarded  as  a  friend. 

Some  of  the  frocks  were  new,  but  most  of  them  were 
old  ;  and  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  the  younger  children 
were  wearing  what  had  served  the  turn  of  a  past 
generation  of  "  sitters-up."  In  some  cases  they  were 
so  inadequate  to  the  requirements  of  the  long-limbed, 
growing  maidens  who  wore  them,  that  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  dresses  "  sat  up  "  even  more  than  their 


WHITSUNTIDE  EXPERIENCES  135 
owners,  so  that  the  white  cotton  stockings  were  taxed 
to  the  utmost  to  maintain  conventional  decency. 

To  listen  to  the  children's  performances,  rather  than 
to  the  address  of  the  preacher,  the  chapel  was  uncom- 
fortably crowded  by  what  the  handbills  called  "parents, 
relatives  and  friends." 

The  door  was  wide  open,  and  my  eyes  often  strayed 
to  it  before  the  service  began,  for  it  framed  a  picture 
of  yellow  meadows  and  waving  trees,  of  brown  moor- 
land and  ultramarine  sky,  with  drowsy  cattle  in  the 
pastures  a  hundred  feet  below,  which  seemed  strangely 
unfamiliar,  and  rather  reminiscent  of  something  I 
had  once  seen  or  dreamed  of,  than  of  what  I  looked 
upon  every  day  of  my  life.  The  explanation  is  simple 
enough,  of  course.  I  saw  just  a  panel  of  the  landscape, 
and  with  limited  vision  the  eye  observed  more  clearly 
and  found  the  beauty  of  the  scene  intensified. 

But  when  the  prayer  was  ended — a  rather  long  and 
wearisome  one,  to  my  thinking,  on  such  a  fine  day, 
when  all  nature  was  offering  praise  so  cheerily — the 
children's  part  began. 

They  sang  children's  hymns,  the  simple  hymns  I 
had  sung  myself  as  a  child,  which  I  hope  all  English- 
speaking  Christian  children  sing :  the  hymns  which 
belong  to  the  English  language  and  to  no  one  church, 
but  are  broad  enough  to  embrace  all  creeds,  and  tender 
enough  to  move  all  hearts,  and  which  must  find  an  echo 
in  the  Higher  Temple,  where  thousands  of  children 
stand  around  the  throne  of  God. 

A  wee  lassie  of  five  stood  up  to  sing  alone.    As  the 


136  WINDYRIDGE 

thin,  childish  voice  rose  and  fell  my  heart  began  to 
beat  fast,  and  I  looked  at  the  fair  little  head  through 
a  veil  of  tears.  They  made  an  aureole  which  trans- 
formed Roger  Treffit's  firstborn  into  a  heavenly  cherub, 
and  I  was  carried  into  that  exalted  state  when  imperfect 
speech  and  neglected  aspirates  are  forgotten  : 

"  Jesus,  tender  Shep'erd  'ear  me  : 
Bless  Thy  little  lamb  to-night ; 
Through  the  darkness  be  Thou  near  me  ; 
Keep  me  safe  till  mornin1  light." 

Was  there  one  present  who  did  not  at  that  moment 
feel  very  near  to  the  sheep-fold  of  the  Good  Shepherd  ? 
I  am  a  Churchwoman,  and  by  training  and  association 
inclined  to  look  distrustfully  upon  Dissent,  but  that 
child's  lispingly  tuneful  prayer  taught  me  that  I  was  in 
the  House  of  God  ;  for  surely  I  know  at  the  heart  of 
me  that  neither  in  the  Catholic  mountain  nor  the 
Anglican  Jerusalem  is  God  solely  to  be  worshipped, 
but  wherever  men  seek  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth  ;  and 
this  afternoon  a  little  child  was  leading  us. 

"  All  this  day  Thy  'and  has  led  me, 
And  I  thank  Thee  for  Thy  care  ; 
Thou  'ast  clothed  me,  warmed  an'  fed  me ; 
Listen  to  myevenin1  prayer." 

It  was  not  evening,  for  the  sun  was  still  high  in  the 
heavens  and  the  shadows  short  upon  the  earth  ;  but 
He  with  whom  the  night  and  the  morning  are  one  day 
heard  and  understood,  I  do  not  doubt. 

Without  a  pause  the  sweet  voice  went  on  : 

"  Let  my  sins  be  all  forgiven ; 

Bless  the  friends  I  love  so  well ; 
Take  me,  when  I  die,  to  "eaven, 
'Appy  there  with  Thee  to  dwell." 


WHITSUNTIDE    EXPERIENCES  137 

Amen  and  amen,  dear  little  Lucy !  Surely  no 
stain  of  sin  as  yet  has  darkened  your  soul,  but  the 
thought  of  the  good  Lord  who  "  forgiveth  iniquity, 
transgression  and  sin  "  cannot  come  to  us  too  soon. 
Let  it  sink  into  the  plastic  wax  of  your  memory  and 
your  heart,  and  harden  into  certainty,  and  then  when 
the  time  comes  for  you  to  die — whether  the  day  be 
near  or  distant — it  will  be  well  with  you,  "  happy  there 
with  Thee  to  dwell  !  " 

There  were  other  solos,  but  none  which  moved  me 
like  this  of  little  Lucy's,  and  there  were  recitations 
by  two  of  the  boys  which  affected  an  entirely  different 
compartment  of  my  emotions. 

They  were  highly  moral  pieces,  I  know,  and  they 
exhorted  us  to  a  course  of  conduct  which  must  have 
been  beneficial  if  followed  ;  the  trouble  was  that  the 
eye  had  so  much  employment  that  the  ear  was  neglected 
and  so  missed  its  opportunities. 

Each  boy  licked  his  lips  vigorously  to  start  with, 
and  then  glued  his  eyes  upon  one  fixed  spot,  as  if  he 
saw  the  words  in  bold  type  there.  If  he  did,  an 
invisible  compositor  had  set  them  up  in  the  west 
window  for  the  one  lad,  and  on  a  corner  of  the  ceiling 
for  the  other.  The  swiftness  with  which  the  words 
came  out  reminded  me  of  a  brakeless  gramophone 
running  at  top  speed  ;  and  it  made  the  performers 
gasp  for  breath,  which  they  dared  hardly  stop  to  renew 
lest  memory  should  take  wings  and  fly  away.  I  am 
sure  I  was  relieved  when  the  final  bob  to  the  con- 
gregation was  reached  and  the  contortions  ended. 


138  WINDYRIDGE 

The  address  was  tedious,  like  the  prayer,  but 
fortunately  it  was  not  long  ;  then  the  preacher  came 
in  to  tea,  it  being  Mother  Hubbard's  turn  to  entertain 
him. 

The  chapel  people  take  the  preachers  according  to 
an  arranged  plan  with  which  they  are  all  familiar. 
My  old  lady  regards  the  privilege  as  in  the  nature  of  a 
heavenly  endowment,  and  she  has  more  than  once 
reminded  me  that  those  who  show  hospitality  to  God's 
ministers  sometimes  entertain  angels  unawares.  No 
doubt  that  is  so,  but  the  wings  were  very,  very  incon- 
spicuous in  the  one  who  ate  our  buttered  toast  that 
Sunday. 

All  the  same  he  is,  I  am  sure,  a  very  good  man,  and 
a  man  of  large  and  cheerful  self-sacrifice  which  calls 
for  admiration  and  respect,  and  I  do  sincerely  honour 
him  ;  and  it  is  no  fault  of  his  that  his  great  big  hands 
are  deeply  seamed  over  their  entire  surface,  and  that 
the  crevices  are  filled  with  black.  He  works,  I  dis- 
covered, at  an  iron-foundry,  and  I  believe  his  hands 
were  really  as  clean  as  soap  and  water  could  make 
them.  But  when  all  has  been  said,  he  need  not  have 
spread  them  over  all  the  plate  whenever  he  helped 
himself  to  another  slice  of  bread,  and  he  might  just  as 
well  have  taken  the  first  piece  he  touched.  I  suppose 
I  am  squeamish,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  found  some 
amusement  in  pressing  him  to  eat  all  he  had  touched, 
however,  and  seeing  that  he  did  it. 

His  conversation  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  use 
he  made  of  the  phrase  "  as  it  were."  Mother  Hubbard 


WHITSUNTIDE   EXPERIENCES  139 

regards  him  as  a  genius,  but  I  doubt  if  he  is  anything 
more  than  an  intelligent  eccentric.  It  must  have  been 
his  flow  of  language  which  got  him  "  on  the  plan  " — 
that  is  to  say,  into  the  ranks  of  the  local  preachers  of 
the  Wesleyan  Church — for,  like  the  brook,  he  could  "  go 
on  for  ever." 

He  is  a  tall,  heavy  man,  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age, 
with  a  mass  of  hair  upon  his  head  but  none  upon  his 
face,  except  where  thick  eyebrows  hang  like  brushwood 
over  the  twin  caverns  of  his  eyes.  As  he  speaks  he 
raises  his  right  hand  and  holds  the  palm  towards  you, 
moving  it  slowly  to  and  fro  for  emphasis,  and  he 
measures  his  words  as  he  goes  along. 

He  was  describing  his  experiences  in  a  new  chapel 
where  he  had  recently  preached,  a  gothic  building, 
"  more  like  a  church,  as  it  were,  than  a  chapel." 

"  Ah  yes,  Mrs.  Hubbard,"  he  said  (he  never  addressed 
me  direct,  perhaps  because  he  suspected  that  I  was  not 
one  of  the  confraternity),  "  I  always  mistrust  a  chapel 
with  a  spire  to  it ;  and  the  spirit  of  Methodism,,  as  it 
were,  cannot  dwell  in  transepts  or  chancels.  There 
is  not  the  heartiness,  not  the  freedom,  which  we  asso- 
ciate with  our  chapels.  The  air  is  heavy,  as  it  were, 
with  the  spirit  of  sacerdotalism.  Why,  ma'am,  at  this 
particular  chapel — church,  they  call  it — they  had 
choir  stalls,  filled  with  men  and  boys,  and  a  liturgical 
service,  as  it  were.  Ah  yes  !  No  sound  of  '  Hallelujah  ! ' 
or  '  Praise  the  Lord  !  '  escaped  the  lips  of  the  devout 
worshipper.  They  were  stifled  stillborn,  as  it  were. 
It  was  cold,  ma'am,  cold  and  formal ;  John  Wesley 


140  WINDYRIDGE 

would  never  have  found  his  heart  strangely  warmed  in 

such  an  atmosphere.     No  ! 

"  And  yet,  ma'am,  there  was  something  in  the 
arrangements  that  stirred  my  feelings,  as  it  were. 
Here,  on  my  right  hand,  were  grouped  the  scholars  ; 
children  in  the  springtime  of  life,  as  it  were.  Yes  ! 
it  was  a  moving  sight,  ma'am,  to  a  man  of  feeling."  (I 
wickedly  thought  of  his  hands.)  "  Life  was  before 
them — spread  out  like  a  map,  as  it  were,  with  nothing 
but  the  outline  ;  or  like  a  copy-book  which  would  be 
soiled  and  disfigured  with  many  blots,  as  it  were, 
before  the  end  was  reached.  Yes  ! 

"  And  on  my  left  were  the  elders  of  the  flock,  gathered 
there,  I  was  told,  because  the  acoustic  properties,  as 
it  were,  are  excellent  in  the  transepts  :  the  grey- 
headed sires,  who  had  almost  fought  through  the 
battle  and  were  now  awaiting  the  recall,  as  it  were. 
Men  and  women  in  the  late  evening  of  life,  as  it  were, 
who  would  soon  pass  behind  the  sunset. 

"  And  in  front  of  me  were  the  middle-aged  :  those 
who  were  bearing  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  as 
it  were.  Yes  !  labourers  in  life's  vineyard  ;  earning 
their  bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  brow,  going  forth 
to  their  work  until  the  evening,  as  it  were. 

"  Yes  !  And  as  I  looked  upon  them,  young  and 
middle-aged  and  old,  I  said  to  myself  in  the  language 
of  the  preacher  :  '  All  go  unto  one  place  ;  all  are  of  the 
dust,  and  all  turn  to  dust  again.' — Ecclesiastes  iii.  2,0, 
ma'am." 

I  got  up  and  went  into  the  garden,  and  filled  my 


WHITSUNTIDE  EXPERIENCES  141 
nostrils  with  the  fragrance  which  earth  was  sending 
to  heaven — as  it  were — and  felt  better. 

Whit  Monday  was  a  hard  day  for  me.  After  dinner 
my  Easter  experiences  were  repeated,  and  sitters 
came  thick  and  fast.  I  really  believe  my  work  is 
giving  satisfaction,  for  some  of  my  last  holiday  cus- 
tomers had  sent  their  friends  to  be  "  taken  "  ;  and 
some  called  themselves  to  say  "  How  d'ye  do  ?  " 

Nothing  eventful  transpired,  however,  and  no 
Cynic  turned  up  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  my  temper 
with  sarcastic  observations  upon  women,  so  I  climbed 
the  hill  at  the  back  of  the  house  and  joined  the  merry 
throng  of  school-children  who  were  having  a  jolly  time 
with  their  elders  in  a  field  at  the  top.  And  there  I 
forgot  my  tiredness,  and  romped  for  a  couple  of  hours 
with  the  wildest  of  them,  having  as  much  of  the  kitten 
in  me  as  most  folk. 

When  the  red  had  finally  died  out  of  the  western 
sky  the  dustman  came  round,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
little  ones  grew  heavy.  But  the  grown-ups  were 
enjoying  themselves  far  too  much  to  think  of  leaving 
so  soon,  so  I  gathered  the  infants  around  me  and  told 
them  all  the  wonderful  stories  which  had  been  locked 
away  in  the  dusty  cabinets  of  my  memory.  Not  the 
ordinary  nursery  tales,  which  are  as  well  known  in 
Windyridge  as  in  Westminster,  but  some  of  the  simpler 
records  of  Greek  mythology,  and  extracts  from  the 
lives  of  the  saints. 

Little  Lucy  came  and  laid  her  head  upon  my  shoulder 
and  asked  if  it  was  all  true.  I  tried  to  show  her  the 


142  WINDYRIDGE 

truth  that  was  hidden  in  the  make-believe,  but  I 
fear  with  small  success.  Her  eyelids  were  held  open 
with  difficulty  as  she  continued  to  question  me. 

"  Is  comets  true  ?  " 

"  Comets  ?  "  I  inquired  ;  "  what  do  you  know  of 
comets  ?  "  (One  is  about  due  now,  and  the  children 
are  on  the  tip-toe  of  excitement.) 

"  Dada  says  they  has  long  tails,  an'  runs  up  an' 
down  the  sky  when  I'se  asleep,  like  little  mouseys." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  them,  are  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Dunno.  I  think  I  is  afraid  of  them,  but  I  always 
asks  God." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "    I  ventured. 

The  little  head  was  growing  heavier,  and  it  was  a 
very  sleepy  voice  that  murmured  : 

"  God  bless  ev'ybody  .  .  .  an'  don't  let  them  be 
'ungry,  so  they  won't  die  ...  until  You  makes  'em 
.  .  .  'cept  it  be  comets  an'  things." 

Now  what  could  anybody  make  of  that  ?  I  carried 
the  child  home,  and  she  did  not  wake  when  I  undressed 
her  and  put  her  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BARJONA   FALLS   INTO    THE   TRAP 

"   A  RTERNOON> miss ! " 

/-%  It  certainly  was  afternoon,  for  only  a 

few  minutes  earlier  the  little  clock  in  my 
studio  had  chimed  three,  and  I  was  not  in  the  least 
expecting  visitors,  particularly  of  the  paying  kind,  and 
was  hard  at  work  upon  the  accumulated  negatives  of 
Whit  week,  when  the  blunt  ejaculation  caused  me  to 
turn  with  a  start.  My  astonished  eyes  fell  upon  a 
transformed  Barjona  ! 

Barjona  in  a  frock  coat  of  modern  cut,  with  a  white 
waistcoat,  and  slate-coloured  trousers,  correctly  creased ! 
Barjona,  with  a  starched  shirt  and  a  satin  tie,  vividly 
blue  !  Above  all,  Barjona  in  a  silk  hat,  which  he  was 
at  that  moment  carefully  removing  from  his  head,  as 
though  anxious  to  prevent  the  escape  of  some  bird 
imprisoned  within  ! 

It  was  not  a  bird,  however,  that  he  captured  and 
produced,  but  an  elaborate  "  button-hole,"  properly 
wired,  as  one  could  see  at  a  glance,  and  with  its  stems 
wrapped  in  silvered  paper  ;  and  Barjona  chuckled  as 
he  stepped  to  the  mirror  and  adjusted  it  in  the  lapel  of 
his  coat. 

"  Took  that  out  quick,  I  can  tell  you.  .  .  .  Gives 
the  show  away,  that  does  .  .  .  thought  once  over  I'd 


144  WINDYRIDGE 

throw  it  in  t'  gutter  .  .  .  but  I  says,  '  Nay,  it  cost 
fourpence  '  .  .  .  sixpence  she  asked  for  it  ...  six- 
pence .  .  .  mustn't  waste  it  ...  smarten  up  my 
photygraph,  too.  .  .  .  No,  no,  mustn't  waste  four- 
pence  !  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Higgins,"  I  exclaimed,  "  you  must 
surely  have  been  to  a  wedding !  But  none  of  our 
friends  in  Windyridge  have  been  getting  married 
to-day,  have  they  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ...  Marsland  Gap  .  .  .  widow-woman 
.  .  .  name  o'  Robertsha'  .  .  .  now  Mrs.  Higgins  .  .  . 
Mrs.  S.  B.  Higgins  .  .  .  she's  in  the  trap  now," 
jerking  his  head  towards  the  roadway. 

This  was  too  much  for  my  gravity.  I  had  just 
enough  presence  of  mind  to  shake  hands  with  him  and 
offer  my  congratulations,  and  then  gave  way  to  un- 
controllable laughter. 

"  It's  your  own  fault,  Mr.  Higgins,"  I  blurted  out 
at  length.  "  Last  October  you  told  me  that  you  were 
too  old  a  fox  to  be  caught  again  ;  there  were  to  be  no 
traps  for  you,  and  when  you  said  Mrs.  Higgins  was  in 
the  trap  it  amused  me  vastly." 

"  Meanin'  the  cart,  of  course,"  he  interrupted,  looking 
somewhat  sheepish,  but  still  sufficiently  pleased  with 
himself. 

"  I  know,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  was  just  wondering  how 
you  come  to  be  caught  in  the  other  trap,  the  trap  of 
wedlock — you,  a  man  of  years  and  experience,  and 
pre-eminently  a  man  of  caution." 

He  hung  his  hat  on  the  support  of  my  reflecting- 


BARJONA  FALLS  INTO  THE  TRAP  145 

screen,  and  passed  his  hand  thoughtfully  over  his 
smooth  crown — I  had  always  felt  sure  that  his  head 
was  bald — and  I  imagined  I  saw  an  uneasy  look  creep 
into  his  eyes. 

"  It  be  very  cur'ous,  Miss  Holden,"  he  said,  in  a 
confidential  tone,  "  very  cur'ous.  .  .  .  Said  to  myself 
many  a  time  .  .  .  hunderds  of  times.  .  .  .  '  Don't 'ee  be 
a  fool,  Simon  .  .  .  women  be  kittle  cattle,'  I  says  .  .  . 
some  weepin'  sort  .  .  .  some  blusterin'  .  .  .  but  all 
masterful  .  .  .  an'  costs  a  lot  o'  money  .  .  .  awful 
lot  o'  money  to  keep  up.  .  .  .  Went  into  't  wi'  my  eyes 
open  ...  oh  yes  ;  very  cur'ous.  .  .  .  Come  to  think 
on 't  ...  dunno  why  I  done  it." 

"  Don't  worry,  Mr.  Higgins,"  I  said  soothingly  ; 
"  many  animals  flourish  splendidly  in  captivity,  and 
if  they  miss  their  freedom  they  never  say  anything 
about  it,  but  look  quite  sleek  and  contented.  And  I 
am  sure  you  have  secured  a  very  capable  and  good- 
natured  wife,  and  are  to  be  heartily  congratulated. 
Now  fetch  her  in  and  I  will  be  getting  the  camera 
ready." 

"  Fetch  her  in  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  be  ready  by  the  time  you  return,  and 
it  will  be  the  work  of  only  a  moment  or  two  to  arrange 
you  suitably." 

"  But  she  isn't  goin'  to  have  'er  photygraph  taken," 
he  said,  with  an  emphatic  shake  of  the  head  ;  "  only 
me." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  remarked  severely, 
"  that  you  will  not  be  photographed  together  on  your 


146  WINDYRIDGE 

wedding  day  ?  Mr.  Higgins,  it  is  quite  the  customary 
thing,  and  I  certainly  never  heard  of  such  a  procedure 
as  you  are  suggesting.  Besides,  it  costs  no  more." 

"  Costs  the  same  ?  ...  for  two  as  for  one  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied. 

"  Taken  separate,  like  ?  "    he  continued. 

"  No,  if  taken  separately  the  cost  would  be  doubled, 
but  on  wedding  occasions  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
are  almost  invariably  photographed  together,  and  that 
involves  no  extra  cost." 

He  thought  this  over  for  half  a  minute  and  then  made 
up  his  mind  definitely. 

"  I'll  be  taken  by  myself,"  he  said,  "...  to  match 
this  'ere." — He  drew  from  his  breast-pocket  a  rather 
faded  photograph,  cabinet  size,  which  displayed  a 
younger  Mrs.  Robertshaw  in  the  fashion  of  a  dozen 
years  before. — "  Maria  got  these  .  .  .  just  afore 
Robertsha'  died  .  .  .  has  best  part  of  a  dozen  on  'em 
.  .  .  gave  Robertsha'  's  away  .  .  .  pity  to  waste  these 
...  '11  do  nicely." 

"But  Mr.  Higgins,"  I  protested,  "these  photo- 
graphs are  faded,  and  they  are  not  the  Mrs.  Higgins 
of  to-day.  Nobody  wears  that  style  of  dress  now,  and 
she  has  actually  a  fringe  !  Throw  them  away,  and 
do  as  I  propose." 

"  I  see  nowt  wrong  wi'  't,"  he  replied,  examining 
it  critically.  "  She's  fatter  now,  an'  isn't  as  good 
lookin'  .  .  .  more  wrinkles,  like.  .  .  .  Makes  a  nicer 
pictur,  this  does  .  .  .  plenty  good  enough  for  'er." 

"  Mr.  Higgins  !  "    I  exclaimed  indignantly. 


BARJONA  FALLS  INTO  THE  TRAP  147 

"  If — you — please — miss,"  he  said  emphatically, 
"it's  me  as  gives  the  order  .  .  .  one  dozen,  miss  .  .  . 
to  match  this  'ere." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said,  and  I  took  two 
negatives  of  the  wretched  little  man,  in  the  first  of 
which  he  is  shown  standing  as  erect  as  nature  permits, 
with  the  silk  hat  fixed  firmly  upon  his  head,  and  one 
hand  in  his  trousers'  pocket,  so  that  the  white  waist- 
coat might  not  be  concealed  ;  and  in  the  second, 
sitting  with  one  leg  thrown  over  the  other,  and  the 
silk  hat  upon  his  knee.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  pointed 
out  that  neither  pose  would  correspond  with  that  of  his 
wife,  which  was  a  mere  vignetted  head  and  shoulders  ; 
Barjona  had  made  up  his  mind,  and  was  not  to  be 
moved,  and  I  felt  thankful,  with  Mother  Hubbard, 
that  I  was  not  Mrs.  Higgins. 

I  went  out  to  speak  to  her  when  the  operation  had 
been  completed,  and  at  our  approach  the  neighbours 
who  had  been  keeping  her  company  smiled  and  drew 
back  a  little. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Higgins,"  I  said.  "  I  have 
already  congratulated  your  husband ;  let  me  now 
wish  you  much  happiness." 

"  Well,  now,  to  be  sure,  Miss  Holden,"  she  replied, 
and  accompanying  the  words  with  a  most  decided 
wink,  "  that  remains  to  be  seen.  But  if  he  doesn't 
give  me  much,  he'll  'ave  less,  I  can  tell  you.  I  think 
we  shall  get  on  when  we've  settled  down  a  bit ;  an' 
anyway,  time  won't  hang  as  'eavy  on  my  'ands,  so  to 
speak." 


148  WINDYRIDGE 

"  Come,  lass,  we  must  be  going,"  interrupted  Bar- 
jona,  who  had  climbed  up  beside  her. 

"  As  soon  as  ever  I've  finished,"  replied  Mrs.  Higgins, 
smiling  upon  him  sweetly.  Nevertheless,  she  tightened 
the  reins  and  prepared  to  move. 

"  I'll  drive,  lass,"  said  Barjona,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  I'll  keep  'em  mysen,  lad,"  replied  his  wife  ;  "  I've 
'eld  'em  all  this  time  while  t'  mare  was  still :  I'll  'old 
'em  now  when  she's  on  t'  move.  Come  up,  lass  !  " 

She  threw  me  another  portentous  wink,  and  the  mare 
moved  slowly  down  the  lane. 

"  Poor  Barjona  !  "  murmured  Mother  Hubbard,  as 
we  sauntered  back  to  the  cottage. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  right,"  I  remarked  rather 
viciously.  "  I  certainly  hope  you  are.  At  present  my 
sympathies  lie  in  the  other  direction,  and  I  am  disposed 
to  say  '  Poor  Maria  ! ' 

"  Yes,  love,"  said  Mother  Hubbard,  "  perhaps  she 
has  the  worse  of  the  bargain  ;  but  I  think  the  old  fox 
has  got  into  a  trap  that  is  going  to  hold  him  very  tight 
this  time,  and  it  will  nip  hard." 

"  I  hope  it  nips  until  he  squeals,"  I  said  impeni- 
tently. 

This  was  on  the  Monday  following  Whitweek.  The 
next  day  brought  me  a  long,  chatty  letter  from  the 
squire,  who  feels  wonderfully  better  and  talks  of  coming 
home  again  soon.  He  cannot  understand  why  the 
doctors  always  say  "  not  just  yet."  He  is  at  Sorrento 
now,  and  chainngly  condoles  with  me  on  the  remote 


BARJONA  FALLS  INTO  THE  TRAP  149 

prospects  of  a  continental  trip,  at  any  rate  on  his 
account.  I  wonder  if  he  guesses  how  relieved  I  am, 
and  how  eagerly  I  anticipate  his  home-coming. 

In  him  I  seem  to  have  a  friend  who  understands,  and 
I  am  beginning  to  think  that  is  the  only  real  kind  of 
friend.  I  have  said  all  along  that  I  do  not  understand 
myself.  I  am  always  coming  across  odd  little  tracts 
of  territory  in  my  nature  which  surprise  me  and  make 
me  feel  something  of  an  explorer,  whereas  I  cannot 
help  feeling,  somehow  or  other,  that  the  squire  knows 
all  about  me,  and  could  make  a  map  of  my  character 
if  he  chose,  with  all  my  moods  and  whims  and  angular- 
ities accurately  indicated,  like  so  many  rivers  and 
mountains.  And  so  far  from  resenting  this  I  am  glad 
of  it,  because  he  is  so  kind  and  fatherly  with  it  all, 
and  not  a  bit  superior.  Now  the  Cynic,  although  he 
is  no  doubt  a  mighty  clever  man,  makes  you  so  fright- 
fully conscious  of  his  cleverness. 

By  the  way,  I  have  made  a  discovery  about  him. 
He  is  a  barrister,  and  quite  an  eminent  one  in  his  way. 
I  suppose  I  might  have  found  this  out  long  ago  by 
asking  any  of  the  Windyridge  men,  but  for  some  occult 
reason  I  have  never  cared  to  inquire.  The  discovery 
came  about  in  this  way. 

When  I  had  finished  reading  the  squire's  letter,  and 
before  proceeding  to  my  work,  I  took  up  the  Airlee 
Despatch  which  Farmer  Goodenough  had  left  with  us, 
solely  because  it  contained  a  short  paragraph  on  the 
"  Wedding  of  a  well-known  Windyridge  character  " — 
no  other,  in  fact,  than  our  friend  Barjona. 


150  WINDYRIDGE 

As  my  eyes  travelled  cursorily  over  the  columns  they 
were  arrested  by  the  following  : 

"  Mr.  Philip  Derwent,  whose  brilliant  advocacy 
admittedly  secured  a  verdict  for  the  plaintiff  in  the 
recently  concluded  case  of  Lessingham  v.  Mainwaring, 
which  has  occupied  so  much  space  in  all  the  newspapers 
recently,  is,  as  most  of  our  readers  will  know,  a  native 
of  Broadbeck.  His  father,  Mr.  Stephen  Derwent,  was 
engaged  in  the  staple  trade  of  that  town,  but  was  better 
known  for  the  interest  he  took  in  many  religious  and 
philanthropic  movements,  and  in  those  circles  his  death 
five  years  ago  occasioned  a  considerable  gap.  If 
report  may  be  relied  upon  Mr.  Philip  Derwent 's  decision 
to  read  for  the  bar  was  a  disappointment  to  his  father, 
but  the  striking  success  which  has  attended  him  all 
through  his  legal  career  has  sufficiently  justified  his 
choice.  It  was  a  matter  of  general  comment  in  legal 
circles  during  the  recent  proceedings  that  Mr.  Derwent 
more  than  held  his  own  against  such  eminent  luminaries 
as  Sir  George  Ritson  and  Mr.  Montgomery  Friend,  who 
were  the  King's  Counsel  opposed  to  him.  He  showed 
remarkable  versatility  in  the  conduct  of  his  case,  and 
his  cross-examinations  and  repartees  were  brilliant  in 
the  extreme.  Whether  his  law  is  as  reliable  as  his 
rhetoric  may  be  open  to  question,  but  one  looks  forward 
to  his  future  career  with  special  interest,  as  he  is  still 
on  the  sunny  side  of  forty,  and  is  therefore  young  enough 
to  win  many  laurels.  His  mother  died  when  he  was 
quite  young,  and  he  is  himself  unmarried." 

Why  I  should  have  felt  low-spirited  when  I  put 


BARJONA  FALLS  INTO  THE  TRAP  151 

the  paper  down  I  do  not  know.  It  is  just  these  unex- 
plained "  moodinesses  "  which  make  me  feel  so  cross 
with  myself.  The  squire's  letter  had  been  bright,  and 
the  paragraph  about  Barjona  amusing,  and  certainly 
the  reference  to  Mr.  Derwent  was  ordinary  enough. 
Still,  I  stared  at  nothing  quite  intently  for  a  few  minutes 
after  reading  it.  Then  I  shook  myself. 

"  Grace  Holden  !  "  I  said,  "  plunge  your  face  into 
cold  water,  and  go  straight  to  your  work  in  the  studio. 
You  have  negatives  to  retouch,  and  prints  to  tone 
and  develop,  and  nearly  a  dozen  miniatures  to  paint, 
all  of  which  are  shamefully  overdue ;  and  no  amount 
of  wool-gathering  will  bring  you  in  the  thirty  shillings 
which  you  have  fixed  as  your  weekly  minimum.  Now 
be  a  sensible  woman,  and  '  frame/  as  your  neighbours 
say." 

So  I  "  framed,"  thinking  the  while  how  contemptu- 
ously the  Cynic  would  smile  at  my  thirty  shillings. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ROSE   ARRIVES 

THE  surprises  of  life  are  sometimes  to  be 
counted  amongst  its  blessings.  I  daresay 
Reuben  Goodenough,  who  is  one  of  the 
most  religious  men  I  have  met — though  I  am  puzzled 
to  know  where  his  religion  comes  from,  seeing  that  he 
rarely  visits  church  or  chapel — would  affirm  that  all  life's 
incidents  are  to  be  regarded  as  blessings.  "  All  things 
work  together  for  good,"  as  "  t'  Owd  Book  "  says. 

He  argued  this  point  with  me  at  considerable  length 
one  day,  and  though  he  did  not  convince  my  head  he 
secured  the  approval  of  my  heart.  He  is  distinctly 
a  philosopher  after  his  kind,  with  the  important  advan- 
tage that  his  philosophy  is  not  too  ethereal  and  tran- 
scendent, but  designed  for  everyday  use.  He  professes 
to  believe  that  there  are  no  such  things  as  "  mis- 
fortunes," and  so  takes  each  day's  events  calmly. 
For  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  see  it,  but  I  rather  cling  to 
the  thought  when  the  untoward  happens. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  surprise  which  "  struck  me  all 
of  a  heap,"  to  use  a  common  expression  of  my  neigh- 
bours, in  the  last  week  of  June  was  a  blessing  that  one 
could  count  at  the  time. 

It  was  evening,  and  I  was  standing  in  the  garden 
among  the  roses  and  pinks,  engaged  in  removing  the 


ROSE  ARRIVES  153 

few  weeds  which  had  escaped  Mother  Hubbard's 
observant  eye,  and  pausing  occasionally  to  wonder 
which  I  admired  the  more — the  stately  irises  in  their 
magnificent  and  varied  robes,  or  the  great  crimson 
peonies  which  made  a  glorious  show  in  one  corner, 
when  the  gate  was  pushed  open,  and  an  elegant  young 
lady,  in  a  smart,  tailor-made  costume,  and  a  becoming 
toque,  glided  towards  me.  I  took  another  look  and 
gasped  for  breath. 

"  Well,  Grace,"  said  the  apparition,  holding  out  a 
neatly  gloved  hand,  "  one  would  say  that  you  were 
astonished  to  see  me." 

"  Rose,  you  darling  !  "  I  ejaculated,  "  come  and 
kiss  me  this  minute,  and  show  me  which  particular 
cloud  has  dropped  you  at  my  feet  !  My  dear  girl, 
you  have  stunned  me,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  pinch  you 
to  see  if  you  are  really  flesh  and  blood." 

"  If  there  is  to  be  any  pinching,  my  dear  Grace,  7 
prefer  to  do  it.  It  will  prove  my  corporeal  existence 
just  as  conclusively,  and  be  less  painful — -to  me.  So 
this  is  Windyridge  ?  " 

"  Rose  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  for  goodness'  sake  don't  be 
so  absurdly  practical  and  commonplace,  but  tell  me 
why  you  have  come,  and  where  you  are  staying,  and 
how  everybody  is  at  old  Rusty's,  and  how  long  you 
are  going  to  be  in  the  north,  and  all  about  yourself, 
and — and — everything. ' ' 

"  All  that  will  take  time,"  replied  Rose  calmly,  as 
she  removed  her  gloves  ;  "  but  I  will  answer  the  more 
important  parts  of  your  questions.  I  am  staying  here, 


154  WINDYRIDGE 

with  you.  If  you  are  very  nice  and  kind  to  me  you 
will  press  me  to  remain  ten  days  with  you,  and  I  shall 
yield  to  pressure,  after  the  customary  formal  and  in- 
sincere protests.  Then  you  will  put  on  your  hat  and 
walk  with  me  down  to  Fawkshill  station,  and  as  there 
are  no  cabs  to  be  had  there  we  will  bring  up  my  bag 
between  us." 

"  That  we  need  not  do,"  I  said.  "  There  are  half  a 
dozen  strong  boys  in  the  village,  any  one  of  whom 
would  fetch  your  belongings  for  love  of  me  and  three- 
pence of  your  money." 

"  Happy  Grace  !  "  she  sighed  ;  " '  love  rules  the  court, 
the  camp,  the  grove,'  as  saith  the  poet.  Be  it  even  so. 
Summon  the  favoured  swain,  discharge  his  debt,  and 
I  will  be  in  thine." 

"  Rose  !  Rose  !  you  are  the  same  incorrigible,  pert, 
saucy  girl  as  of  yore,  but  you  have  filled  my  heart 
with  joy.  I  am  treading  on  air  and  giddy  with  delight. 
We  will  have  ten  days  of  undiluted  rapture.  Come 
inside  and  look  round  my  home.  Mother  Hubbard  is 
'  meeting  for  tickets  '  to-night,  and  will  not  be  back  for 
a  good  half-hour." 

"  Meeting  for  what  ?  "  inquired  Rose  blankly. 

"  Meeting  for  tickets,"  I  repeated.  "  My  dear  old 
lady  is  a  Methodist  class  leader,  and  to  '  meet  for 
tickets  '  is  a  shibboleth  beyond  your  untutored  com- 
prehension. But  the  occasion  is  one  of  vast  import- 
ance to  her,  and  you  are  not  to  make  fun  of  her." 

She  was  pleased  with  everything  and  expressed  her 
pleasure  readily.  In  spite  of  her  composed  manner 


ROSE   ARRIVES  155 

she  is  a  very  dear  girl  indeed,  and  though  she  is  years 
younger  than  I  am  she  and  I  always  hit  it  exactly. 
When  she  saw  the  tiny  bed  and  realised  that  we  should 
have  to  share  it  she  laughed  merrily. 

"  /  will  sleep  next  to  the  wall  to-night,"  she  said, 
"  because  I  am  very  tired,  and  it  would  be  annoying 
to  be  always  falling  out.  I  shall  sleep  so  soundly 
that  your  bumping  the  floor  will  not  disturb  me,  so  you 
will  have  nothing  to  worry  about.  Then  to-morrow 
night  I  will  take  the  post  of  danger,  and  so  alternately." 

"  We  might  rope  ourselves  together,"  I  suggested, 
"  and  fasten  the  ends  to  a  stake  outside  the  window. 
I  don't  think  the  bumping  idea  appeals  to  me." 

But  Mother  Hubbard  planned  a  better  way  on  her 
return,  and  contrived  a  simple  and  ingenious  addition 
to  the  width  of  the  bed  by  means  of  chairs  and  pillows, 
which  served  our  purpose  admirably. 

Over  the  supper  table  Rose  told  us  all  about  her  visit. 
'  You  see,  I  have  not  been  quite  the  thing  lately : 
nervy  and  irritable  and  that  sort  of  nonsense,  which 
the  chief  charitably  construed  into  an  indication  of  ill- 
health.  He  was  awfully  decent  about  it  and  suggested 
that  I  should  see  a  doctor.  I  told  him  I  was  all  right, 
but  he  insisted ;  so  I  saw  Dr.  Needham,  and  he  told 
me  I  was  run  down  and  required  bracing  air.  '  Moun- 
tain air  would  be  better  than  the  seaside,'  he  said. 
'  You  haven't  friends  in  Scotland  or  Yorkshire,  I 
suppose  ?  '  Then  I  thought  of  you.  '  I  have  a  friend 
who  went  wrong  in  her  head  about  twelve  months  ago,' 
I  said  (or  words  to  that  effect),  '  and  she  ran  away  to 


156  WINDYRIDGE 

the  Yorkshire  moors.  She  might  take  me  in  if  I 
could  get  off.'  '  The  very  thing/  he  said.  '  Will  you 
have  any  difficulty  with  your  employer  ?  ' 

"  '  I  don't  think  so,'  I  replied  ;  '  not  if  it  is  really 
necessary.  The  chief  is  a  discriminating  man,  and  I 
believe  realises  that  my  services  are  invaluable,  and  he 
will  put  up  with  a  little  temporary  inconvenience  in 
order  to  retain  them  permanently,  I  imagine.'  You 
are  accustomed  to  my  modesty,  Grace,  and  will  not 
be  surprised  that  I  spoke  with  humility. 

"  Well,  he  smiled  and  said  he  would  give  me  a 
certificate,  so  I  took  the  certificate  and  my  departure 
and  interviewed  the  chief  in  his  den  !  It  was  as  I  had 
anticipated.  I  was  to  get  away  at  once.  Ten  days 
on  the  moors  would  put  the  wine  of  life  into  my  blood. 
That  was  theory.  The  practical  assumed  the  form  of 
a  five-pound  note,  which  enables  me  to  play  the  part 
of  the  grand  lady — a  role  for  which  I  was  designed  by 
nature,  but  which  providence  spitefully  denied  me.  I 
stated  my  intentions  to  the  Rusty  one,  who  coldly  sent 
you  her  regards,  but  I  determined  to  take  you  by  sur- 
prise, hoping  to  catch  you  unprepared  and  unadorned, 
whereas  you  are  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Then 
I  boarded  the  two  o'clock  Scotch  express  at  St.  Pancras, 
changed  trains  at  Airlee,  and  me  voila  !  By  the  way 
what  about  my  bag  ?  " 

The  bag  came  all  right  in  due  course,  and  in  the 
days  that  followed  Rose  and  I  gave  ourselves  up  to 
enjoyment.  It  was  like  living  one's  life  twice  over  to 
share  the  delight  she  showed  in  her  surroundings. 


ROSE  ARRIVES  157 

Fortunately  I  had  got  abreast  of  my  work,  and  we 
ordinarily  devoted  our  afternoons  to  business  and  spent 
the  mornings  and  evenings  in  Nature's  wonderland. 

During  those  ten  glorious  days  the  sun  worked  over- 
time for  our  special  benefit,  and  put  in  seventeen  hours 
with  unfailing  regularity.  He  smiled  so  fiercely  on 
Rose's  cheeks  that  she  would  have  justified  her  god- 
mother's choice  if  she  had  not  preferred  the  hue  of 
the  berry,  and  turned  a  rich  chestnut. 

Mowing  was  in  full  swing  in  the  meadows,  and  we 
took  our  forks  and  tossed  the  hay  about  and  drank 
barley-water  with  the  rest.  We  followed  the  men 
whose  heads  were  lost  in  the  loads  of  hay  which  they 
carried  on  their  backs,  and  saw  how  they  dropped  their 
burden  in  the  haymow.  We  stood  like  children,  open- 
mouthed,  admiring  the  skill  and  industry  of  the  man 
who  there  gathered  it  up  and  scattered  it  evenly  round 
and  round  the  mow. 

We  went  into  Reuben  Goodenough's  farmyard,  and 
I  showed  her  the  barn  owls  which  have  taken  up  their 
abode  in  his  pigeon  loft,  and  which  live  amicably  with 
their  hosts  and  feed  on  mice.  We  descended  the  fields 
to  the  woods,  which  the  recent  felling  has  thinned  con- 
siderably, but  which  have  all  the  rank  luxuriance  of 
summer,  and  revelled  amid  the  bracken  and  trailing 
roses.  We  stood  by  the  streamlet  where  the  green 
dragon-flies  flitted  in  the  sunshine,  and  where  millions 
of  midges  hovered  in  the  air  to  become  the  prey  of  the 
swallows  which  rushed  through  with  widely  open 
mouths  and  took  their  fill  without  effort. 


158  WINDYRIDGE 

We  spent  hours  on  the  moor,  where  the  heather, 
alas  !  had  not  yet  appeared,  but  which  was  a  perfect 
storehouse  of  novelties  and  marvels.  Who  would  have 
thought,  for  instance,  that  the  little  golden  bundles 
which  cling  to  the  furze,  and  which  we  thought  were 
moss,  were  just  so  many  colonies  of  baby  spiders  ? 
We  watched  the  merlins,  the  fierce  cannibals  of  the 
moors,  which  dash  upon  the  smaller  birds  and  are  even 
bold  enough  to  attack  the  young  grouse  at  times.  What 
did  we  not  do  !  Where  did  we  not  go  !  And  neither 
of  us  suffered  from  surfeit. 

"  Grace,"  said  Rose,  as  we  lay  on  our  backs  in  my 
paddock,  and  gazed  upon  the  white  cumulus  clouds 
which  floated  above,  "  I  withdraw  all  I  have  said 
about  your  madness,  and  I  now  declare  you  to  be  partic- 
ularly sane.  If  ever  I  go  back  to  town,  which  is  doubt- 
ful, I  will  describe  your  sanity  in  terms  which  will 
relieve  the  fears  of  all  at  No.  8.  My  personal  appear- 
ance will  give  colour  to  my  statements,  and  I  shall 
probably  observe,  with  the  originality  which  is  a  mark 
of  genius,  that  God  made  the  country  and  man  made 
the  town.  But  I  have  not  yet  decided  to  return, 
although  I  took  a  ten  days'  ticket.  Your  studio 
seems  to  have  served  its  purpose  :  is  there  any  open- 
ing in  Windyridge  for  a  talented  stenographer  and 
typist  ?  " 

"  The  prospects  would  not  appear  to  be  exactly 
dazzling,"  I  replied,  "  but  I'm  willing  to  keep  you  here 
on  the  off-chance  that  something  may  turn  up." 

"  Some&o^y's    turning    up,"   said    Rose,    hurriedly 


ROSE   ARRIVES  159 

assuming  a  sitting  posture,  "  and  we  had  better  get 
up." 

I  imitated  her  example,  and  saw  that  the  Cynic  had 
leaped  the  wall  and  was  coming  towards  us. 

I  did  the  necessary  introductions  and  we  sat  down 
again.     "  I  called,"  said  the  Cynic,  "  in  the  hope  that 
there  might  be  a  clock  to  regulate  or  a  creeper  to  nail 
up,  in  which  case  I  might  earn  a  cup  of  tea.     Also 
to  make  arrangements  for  my  photograph." 

"  I  couldn't  expect  you  to  do  any  work  in  those 
clothes,"  I  replied.  "  Is  this  a  visit  of  ceremony,  or 
have  you  come  in  your  Sunday  best  in  order  to  have 
your  portrait  taken  ?  All  my  local  sitters  insist  upon 
putting  on  the  clothes  in  which  they  feel  and  look  the 
least  comfortable." 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  glance  at  his  black  trousers — 
the  rest  of  him  was  hidden  by  a  light  dust-coat — "  the 
fact  is,  I  am  dining  with  the  vicar  and  spending  the 
night  at  the  vicarage.  I  must  go  to  town  on  Saturday, 
but  to-day  and  to-morrow  are  free.  I  propose,  with 
your  gracious  permission,  to  spend  an  hour  here,  walk 
on  to  Fawkshill,  and  return  to-morrow  for  the  dread 
operation  to  which  I  have  referred." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  convenient  to-morrow," 
I  said  ;  "  really  I  am  very  sorry  to  upset  your  plans, 
but  Miss  Fleming  returns  to  town  on  Saturday,  and 
we  have  promised  ourselves  a  full  day  on  the  moors. 
Of  course,  if  you  could  come  very  early " 

Rose  interrupted.  "  Don't  let  me  hinder  business, 
my  dear  Grace,  or  I  shall  have  you  on  my  conscience, 


160  WINDYRIDGE 

and  that  will  be  no  light  burden.     We  can  modify  our 

arrangements,  of  course." 

"  What  about  my  conscience,  in  that  case  ?  "  said 
the  Cynic.  "  I  am  not  really  very  particular  about 
the  photograph,  especially  in  my  '  Sunday  best,'  and 
I  can  easily  come  up  some  other  day.  But — who  is 
going  to  carry  the  luncheon  basket  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  basket,"  I  returned  ;  "  our  arrangements 
are  much  more  primitive,  and  the  burden  grows 
lighter  as  the  day  proceeds.  Moreover,  I  don't  think 
it  is  very  nice  of  you  to  suggest  that  the  photograph 
is  of  slight  importance.  Don't  you  realise  that  it  is 
my  living  ?  " 

"  I  realise  the  truth  of  the  poet's  assertion  that 
woman  is  'uncertain,  coy  and  hard  to  please.'  A 
moment  ago  you  were  declining  business — declining  it 
with  an  air  of  polite  regret,  it  is  true,  but  quite  em- 
phatically. Now,  when  I  not  only  refuse  to  disturb 
your  arrangements,  but  actually  hint  an  offer  of 
assistance,  you  scent  a  grievance." 

Rose  was  looking  very  hard  at  me,  and  I  felt  vexed 
with  the  man  for  placing  me  in  such  an  awkward 
position.  And  to  make  matters  worse  the  conscious- 
ness of  Rose's  stare  upset  my  self-possession,  and  it 
was  she  who  spoke  first. 

"  If  Mr.  Derwent  would  join  us  I  think  it  would  be 
very  nice,"  she  said,  so  demurely  that  I  stared  at  her 
in  my  turn,  "  and  it  would  be  an — education  for  him. 
And  he  certainly  could  carry  the  sandwiches  and  our 
wraps,  which  are  a  bit  of  a  nuisance." 


ROSE   ARRIVES  161 

What  could  I  say  ?  I  was  annoyed,  but  I  could  only 
mutter  something  incoherent  which  my  companions 
construed  into  an  assent,  and  Rose  instructed  the 
Cynic  to  be  at  the  cottage  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

To  add  to  my  confusion,  Mother  Hubbard  was  mani- 
festly excited  when  we  went  in  to  tea,  and  she  tele- 
graphed all  sorts  of  meaning  messages  to  Rose  when 
the  Cynic's  back  was  turned.  I  was  cross  with  myself 
for  becoming  embarrassed,  but  I  hate  to  be  placed  in 
a  false  position.  What  on  earth  is  the  Cynic  to  me  ? 

I  thought  he  was  rather  subdued  and  not  quite  as 
satirical  as  usual,  but  he  was  obviously  very  much 
taken  with  Rose,  who  was  quite  brilliant  in  her  cuts 
and  thrusts.  She  soon  took  the  Cynic's  measure,  and 
I  saw  how  keenly  he  enjoyed  the  encounter.  I  left 
them  to  it  very  largely,  much  to  the  disappointment 
of  Mother  Hubbard,  who  developed  a  series  of  short, 
admonitory  coughs,  and  pressed  my  foot  beneath  the 
table  a  score  of  times  in  a  vain  effort  to  induce  me  to 
shine.  It  was  not  my  "  night  out,"  and  her  laudable 
endeavours  simply  resulted  in  a  sore  foot — the  injured 
member  being  mine. 

We  accompanied  him  a  little  way  along  the  road, 
and  when  we  left  him  Rose  turned  upon  me  : 

"  Now  'fess  !  "   she  said. 

"  Rose,  don't  be  a  goose  !  "  I  replied,  whilst  the 
stupid  colour  flooded  my  face  ;  "  there  is  nothing  to 
confess.  I  have  seen  Mr.  Derwent  only  twice  before 
in  my  life.  He  is  little  more  than  a  stranger  to  me." 

"  A  remarkable  circumstance,   however,   my  dear 


i6a                     WINDYRIDGE 
Grace,  is  that  you  have  never  mentioned  his  name  in 
your  rather  voluminous  correspondence,  and  yet  you 
seem  to  be  on  familiar  and  even  friendly  terms  ;  and 
our  good  friend  Mother  Hubbard " 

"  Mother  Hubbard,  Rose,  is  romantic.  The  moment 
the  man  turned  up  at  Easter  she  designated  him  as  my 
lover.  Let  me  be  quite  candid  with  you.  If  I  was  not 
so  constituted  that  blushing  comes  as  naturally  to  me 
as  to  a  ripe  cherry  you  would  have  had  no  reason 
to  suspect  anything.  It  is  the  innocent,  I  would 
remind  you,  who  blush  and  look  guilty.  Mr.  Derwent 
is  a  barrister — a  friend  of  the  vicar  and  of  the  squire — 
and  he  amuses  himself  by  calling  here  when  he  is  in 
the  village — that  is  all.  And  if  you  are  going  to  be 
as  silly  as  Mother  Hubbard  it  is  too  bad  of  you." 

I  felt  this  was  frightfully  weak  and  unconvincing, 
as  the  truth  so  often  is. 

"  U-m  !  "  said  Rose,  spreading  the  ejaculation  over 
ten  seconds  ;  "I  see.  Then  there's  nothing  more  to 
be  said  about  it.  He  isn't  a  bad  sort,  is  he  ?  Why  in 
the  world  you  never  mentioned  him  in  your  letters  I 
cannot  conceive." 

It  was  too  bad  of  Rose. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   CYNIC    SPEAKS    IN    PARABLES 

((*\  "IT  THAT  makes  you  call  me  the  Cynic  ?  "  he 
^7^7       inquired. 

It  was  Rose's  fault  ;  she  is  really 
incorrigible,  and  absolutely  heedless  of  consequences  ! 
If  I  had  dreamed  that  she  would  have  done  such  a 
thing  I  would  never  have  told  her,  but  that  is  the 
worst  of  blanket  confidences.  I  call  them  "  blanket  " 
confidences  because  it  was  after  we  had  gone  to  bed, 
when  it  was  quite  dark  and  Rose  was  inclined  to  be 
reasonable,  that  I  had  explained  to  her  calmly  and 
quite  seriously  that  I  had  not  mentioned  the  Cynic  in 
my  letters  because  there  had  been  no  reason  to  do  so  ; 
and  Rose  had  accepted  the  explanation,  like  a  good 
girl,  and  kissed  me  to  show  her  penitence.  Then  I  told 
her  of  the  nickname  I  had  given  him,  which  she 
thought  very  appropriate.  But  I  would  have  held  my 
tongue  between  my  teeth  if  I  had  contemplated  the 
possibility  of  her  revealing  the  secret  ;  and  here  she 
had  blurted  it  out  with  a  laugh,  to  my  utter  and  dire 
confusion. 

We  had  had  a  glorious  day,  and  I  must  admit  that 
the  Cynic  had  added  not  a  little  to  our  enjoyment. 
He  said  he  would  have  felt  like  a  fool  to  be  walking  out 
in  black  West  of  Englands,  so  he  had  called  at  the 


1 64  WINDYRIDGE 

Hall  and  got  the  butler  to  find  up  an  old  shooting 
jacket  of  the  squire's,  which  was  much  too  large  for 
him,  but  in  which  he  appeared  quite  unconcernedly  a 
full  ten  minutes  before  the  time  appointed. 

"  It  isn't  a  good  fit,"  he  remarked  with  a  laugh, 
"  but  the  other  toggery  was  impossible  for  the  moors." 

Under  his  guidance  we  had  gone  farther  than  we 
should  otherwise  have  ventured,  and  he  had  pointed 
out  a  hundred  beauties  and  wonders  our  untrained 
eyes  would  never  have  seen.  He  had  interpreted  the 
varying  cries  of  the  curlew,  and  shown  us  how  intently 
the  gamekeeper  listened  to  them,  so  that  he  might 
know  whether  man  or  beast  or  bird  was  attracting 
the  watcher's  notice.  He  had  pointed  out  the  trustful 
little  twite,  which  I  should  have  mistaken  for  a  linnet, 
and  followed  it  to  its  abode,  where  he  told  us  we  should 
find  a  single  feather  stuck  conspicuously  in  the  edge  of 
the  nest  ;  and  it  had  been  even  so.  Our  botanical 
knowledge  would  have  been  greatly  increased  if  we  had 
remembered  all  he  told  us,  but  though  we  did  not  do 
so  we  were  deeply  interested,  for  he  had  none  of  the  air 
of  the  schoolmaster,  and  he  did  not  expect  us  to  take 
our  lessons  very  seriously. 

And  now  the  day  was  spent,  and  our  energy,  though 
not  our  spirits,  had  flagged  considerably.  We  were 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  moor,  a  mile  or  so  away  from 
home,  and  the  flush  of  evening  spread  over  the  valley 
and  the  distant  hills,  turning  the  landscape  into  mys- 
tery. The  lamp  of  the  setting  sun  was  flickering  out 
in  the  west,  but  the  handmaidens  of  the  night  had  lit 


THE   CYNIC   SPEAKS  165 

their  tiny  torches  here  and  there,  and  they  shone 
faintly  behind  the  veil  of  twilight,  giving  promise  of 
greater  radiance  when  the  time  should  come  for  them 
to  go  forth  to  meet  the  crescent  bride  who  tarried 
in  her  coming. 

I  was  gazing  on  it  dreamily,  and  breathing  out  peace 
and  goodwill  towards  men  when  Rose  dropped  her 
bomb,  and  shattered  my  complacency. 

"  What  makes  you  call  me  the  Cynic  ?  "  He  turned 
his  eyes  upon  me  and  awaited  my  answer  with  evident 
curiosity. 

I  looked  at  him  in  my  turn.  He  had  been  bareheaded 
all  day,  for  he  had  left  his  hat  at  the  Hall,  and  he  was 
now  leaning  back  against  a  rock,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head,  and  the  mischievous  look  I  have  so 
often  noticed  sparkling  in  his  eyes.  He  really  is 
rather  a  fine  man,  and  he  has  certainly  a  good 
strong  face.  I  replied,  calmly  enough  to  outward 
seeming  : 

"  Because  it  has  seemed  to  me  an  apt  description." 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  replied.  "  Cynicism  is  the  small 
change  of  shallow  minds.  All  the  same,  it  is  interesting 
to  be  criticised.  I  did  not  know  when  I  offered  to 
analyse  your  character  that  I  was  being  subjected 
to  the  same  test." 

"  Indeed  you  were  not,"  I  protested  ;  "it  was  an 
appellation  that  came  to  me  spontaneously  whilst 
you  were  discoursing  so  luminously  on  woman  a  few 
months  ago,  and  it  is  not  to  be  taken  seriously.  It 
was  wicked  of  Rose  to  tell  you." 


166  WINDYRIDGE 

Rose  laughed  and  put  an  arm  around  me.  "  Never 
mind,  old  girl,"  she  said,  "  I'm  going  back  to-morrow, 
so  you  must  forgive  me." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  have  not  distinguished  with  suffi- 
cient care,  Miss  Holden,  between  satire  and  cynicism. 
I  daresay  there  is  a  strain  of  satire  in  my  composition, 
but  I  do  not  plead  guilty  to  cynicism.  A  cynic  is  a 
surly,  misanthropical  man,  with  a  disordered  liver  and 
a  contempt  for  the  good  things  of  life." 

"  Oh,  Grace  !  "  murmured  Rose  in  pathetic  tones, 
"  how  could  you  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  I  said,  "  I  am  not  going  to  allow  you 
to  pretend  to  take  me  seriously.  Do  you  think  I 
subjected  the  word  to  subtle  analysis  before  I  adopted 
it  ?  I  tell  you  it  came  to  me  as  an  inspiration,  heaven- 
born,  doubtless,  but  if  you  don't  like  it  pray  forget 
it  ;  and  for  your  comfort  I  will  add  that  I  have  never 
attached  to  the  word  the  meaning  you  read  into  it. 
I  know  you  have  no  contempt  for  art  and  poetry  and 
the  good  things  of  life.  Now  tell  us  what  you  see 
before  you  ?  " 

I  wished  to  change  the  subject,  and  referred  simply 
to  the  view,  as  anyone  might  have  known.  Night 
was  dropping  her  blue  curtain  as  gently,  as  silently, 
as  the  nurse  spreads  the  coverlet  over  the  sleeping 
babe  ;  but  the  stupid  man  professed  to  misunder- 
stand me. 

"  I  see  before  me,"  he  replied,  "  two  interesting  speci- 
mens of  the  sex  which  ruins  the  peace  and  creates  the 
paradise  of  the  bulk  of  mankind.  I  would  call  them 


THE   CYNIC   SPEAKS  167 

charming  but  for  the  fear  that  my  candour  might  be 
mistaken  for  cajolery,  which  my  soul  abhorreth." 

"  Oh,  please  stop  this  !  "  I  pleaded,  but  Rose  said  : 
"  Let  him  ramble  on,"  and  he  continued  : 

"  The  one  whom  I  judge  to  be  the  elder  is  tall  and 
well  proportioned.  She  has  a  fairly  deep  brow  which 
indicates  some  intellectual  power,  but  whether  this  is 
modified  or  intensified  by  cranial  depressions  and  pro- 
tuberances, a  mass  of  dark  hair,  arranged  in  a  fashion 
that  beggars  my  feeble  powers  of  description,  hides 
from  my  eyes. 

"  Her  mouth  is  firm,  and  set  above  a  determined  chin, 
which  would  lead  me  to  conclude  that  she  has  a  will 
of  her  own  and  is  accustomed  to  exercise  it  ;  but  her 
eyes  are  tender  and  pleading,  and  so  near  the  reservoir 
of  her  emotions  that  the  waters  readily  overflow,  and 
this  in  some  measure  counteracts  the  qualities  of  the 
chin.  She  has  a  pretty  wit  and  a  ready  tongue — 
usually — and  has  lived  long  enough  to  be  convinced 
of  her  own  powers  ;  rather  masterful  with  the  world 
at  large,  but  not  mistress  of  herself." 

"  Thank  you  !  "   I  interrupted.     He  bowed. 

"  She  dresses  with  taste  and  has  tidy  and  methodical 
habits  ;  is  ever  ready  with  sympathy,  but  would  never 
care  deeply  for  anybody  who  did  not  show  her  a  heap 
of  affection." 

"  Do  I  cross  your  hand  with  silver  ?  "  I  inquired. 

He  ignored  my  interruption  and  turned  his  whimsical 
gaze  upon  Rose. 

"  Her  companion,  whom  I  have  had  fewer  oppor- 


1 68  WINDYRIDGE 

tunities  of  observing,  is  slight,  fair,  and  small  of  stature. 
I  should  say  she  might  be  scheduled  as  '  dangerous/ 
for  she  flashes  most  unexpectedly.  She  is  rather 
proud  of  her  self-possession,  and  delights  in  appearing 
cool  and  unemotional,  but  in  reality  she  is  neither. 
She  has  simply  cultivated  repression  for  the  sake  of 
effect.  vShe  is  intense  in  her  likes  and  dislikes,  and 
quite  capable  of  hating  those  whom  she  regards  with 
aversion,  whilst  she  would  apotheosise  anyone  for 
whom  she  really  cared.  Her  wit  is  more  brilliant  but 
also  more  superficial  than  that  of  her  friend,  and  her 
mental  outlook  is  clearer,  and  consequently  more  op- 
timistic. She  prides  herself  on  unconventionality,  and 
is  at  heart  the  slave  of  conventionalism.  In  a  word  she 
is  a  paradox,  but  a  very  agreeable  and  fascinating  one." 

"  I  had  much  rather  be  a  paradox  than  a  paragon," 
said  Rose  ;  "  but  after  your  very  inadequate  delineation 
of  my  character  I  am  trying  to  determine  in  which 
pigeon-hole  of  my  carefully  concealed  emotions  I  am 
to  docket  you." 

"  Is  that  quite  true,  Miss  Fleming  ?  "  inquired  the 
Cynic,  looking  at  her  keenly.  "  I  should  have  said 
you  made  up  your  mind  on  that  point  last  evening." 

The  tan  upon  her  cheeks  and  the  cloak  of  twilight 
covered  Rose's  blushes  to  a  large  extent,  but  I  am  sure 
the  colour  deepened,  and  I  am  convinced  the  Cynic 
saw  it. 

He  rose  and  gathered  up  the  wraps.  "  It  is  getting 
chilly,"  he  observed  ;  "  shall  we  be  moving  ?  " 

I  turned  the  conversation  into   another  channel. 


THE   CYNIC   SPEAKS  169 

"  You  are  going  to  town  this  week-end.  Is  most  of 
your  time  spent  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  my  work  lies  in  London, 
though  Broadbeck  is  my  home,  and  I  run  down  very 
often,  merely,  I  believe,  to  breathe  the  murky  air  and 
refresh  my  soul  with  the  Yorkshire  burr.  I  go  back 
refreshed  without  knowing  why.  I  have  no  relatives 
here  now,  and  few  friends,  but  the  few  I  have,  though 
they  do  not  guess  it,  are  my  greatest  comfort." 

"  Comfort  !  "  ejaculated  Rose  ;  "  what  can  you 
know  of  the  need  of  comfort  ?  You,  at  any  rate,  are 
self-centred  and  self-possessed.  You  have  evidently 
a  sufficient  income  and  lots  of  the  good  things  of  life  ; 
you  are  entirely  your  own  master,  and  on  the  high- 
road to  fame  ;  what  more  can  you  want  ?  " 

"  Much,"  he  replied  simply  ;  "  and  chiefly  the  sym- 
pathy which  understands  without  explanations,  and 
I  get  that  only  amongst  my  own  folk.  Do  you  know 
what  that  means  ?  I  have  all  the  things  you  speak  of  : 
an  increasing  practice,  an  adequate  income,  good  health, 
work  that  brings  its  own  pleasure,  an  appreciation  of 
life,  consequent,  no  doubt,  upon  all  these  things,  and 
an  ardent  longing  for  the  relief  which  only  real 
sympathy  affords." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Rose,  "  notwithstanding 
my  clear  outlook  on  life." 

"  Do  you  ?  "    The  Cynic  turned  to  me. 

"  Partially,"  I  replied.  "  I  can  understand  that 
none  of  these  things  satisfies  in  itself,  and  that  you  may 
have  '  all  things  and  abound,'  and  yet  crave  something 


1 70  WINDYRIDGE 

you  cannot  work  for  and  earn.  But  I  should  have 
thought  your  profession  would  have  left  you  little  time 
for  sentiment,  even  if  it  afforded  scope  for  it." 

"  You  know,  then,  what  my  profession  is  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  barrister,  and,  as  Rose  says,  on  the  high- 
road to  fame." 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  "  I  suppose  that  is  true.  I  have 
as  much  work  as  I  can  undertake  and  I  am  well  paid 
for  it.  Success,  in  that  sense,  has  come,  though 
slowly,  and  I  am  considered  by  many  a  lucky  fellow. 
My  future  is  said  to  be  full  of  promise.  I  have,  in  the 
sense  in  which  you  spoke,  '  all  things  and  abound/  and 
when  I  step  into  the  arena  of  conflict  I  am  conscious 
of  this,  and  of  this  only.  In  the  heat  of  the  fray  the 
joy  of  battle  comes  upon  me,  and  I  am  oblivious  to  all 
else. 

"  Then  comes  the  after-thought,  when  the  fray  is 
ended  and  the  arena  has  been  swept  clean  for  the  next 
encounter.  '  What  lack  I  yet  ?  '  In  the  process  of 
gaining  the  whole  world  am  I  going  to  lose  myself  ? 
And  the  throng  presses  upon  me  and  slaps  my  back 
and  shakes  my  hand  and  shouts,  '  Lucky  dog  !  '  into 
my  ear,  and  I  smile  and  look  pleased — am  pleased — 
until  my  Good  Spirit  drives  me  north,  where  the  air 
is  not  soft,  but  biting,  and  men  speak  their  minds 
without  circumlocution  and  talk  to  you  without  defer- 
ence, and  give  you  a  rough  but  kindly  thrust  if  they 
think  you  need  it.  And  there  I  find  vision  and 
comfort." 

"  You  are  utterly  beyond  me,"  said  Rose.     "  You 


THE  CYNIC  SPEAKS  171 

are  soaring  in  the  clouds  miles  above  my  head,  and  I 
cannot  yet  understand  why  you  need  comfort." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  young  ruler  who  went  away 
sorrowful  ?  "  he  replied.  He  was  looking  straight 
ahead,  with  a  sad,  fixed  look  in  his  eyes  such  as  I  had 
not  seen  there  before.  "  I  wonder  if  he  went  north  and 
found  a  friend  who  understood,  and  from  him  gained 
comfort.  You  see,  he  knew  that  something  was  lacking, 
but  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  pay  the  price  of 
the  remedy,  and  even  the  Great  Physician,  whilst  He 
gave  the  unwelcome  prescription,  pitied  and  loved 
him.  The  world  called  him  a  lucky  dog,  and  he 
called  himself  one — with  a  reservation.  And  he  wanted 
comfort  ;  not  the  comfort  which  simply  says,  '  Buck-up, 
old  man  !  '  but  that  which  says,  '  Brace-up,  old  man  ! 
If  to  sell  all  is  the  summum  bonum,  go,  see  the  broker 
now  and  have  done  with  it.'  I  wonder  if  he  went 
eventually." 

This  was  a  new  mood,  and  I  glanced  at  the-  Cynic 
curiously.  What  had  become  of  his  cynicism  ? 
He  was  speaking  quietly,  contemplatively,  and  I  felt 
sure  there  was  meaning  behind  his  words. 

I  said  nothing,  but  Rose  shook  her  head  and  mut- 
tered :  "  You  speak  in  parables." 

"  Let  me  give  you  a  parable,"  he  continued.  "  Once 
upon  a  time  a  certain  boy  on  leaving  school  left  also 
a  large  number  of  marbles.  These  were  claimed  by 
two  of  his  companions,  and  one  of  the  two  took  pos- 
session of  them.  Then  arose  a  great  outcry  on  the 
part  of  him  who  would  have  taken  them  if  he  could, 


172  WINDYRIDGE 

and  he  dragged  his  fellow  before  a  council  of  their 
peers.  The  monitor  was  judge,  and  two  sharp  young 
fellows  who  were  good  in  debate  and  of  ready  tongue 
acted  as  counsel  for  the  claimant  and  his  foe  respec- 
tively. 

"  In  the  end  judgment  was  given  for  the  claimant, 
who  carried  ofi  triumphantly  the  spoils  of  battle. 
And  this  judgment  was  given,  not  because  the  defendant 
had  no  right  to  the  marbles,  but  because  the  lad  who 
championed  his  cause  was  not  so  glib  of  speech  nor 
so  ready  in  argument  as  the  fellow  on  the  other  side. 
Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  lad  who  won  the  case  for 
his  friend  discovered  soon  after,  v/hat  he  had  suspected 
all  along — that  the  latter  had  no  real  claim  to  the 
marbles  at  all,  and  that  they  had  been  taken  unjustly 
from  the  lad  to  whom  they  rightfully  belonged.  Yet 
the  judgment  of  the  court  could  not  be  upset.  What 
was  he  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Rose  promptly. 

"  Why  ?  "  inquired  the  Cynic, 

"  It  was  the  fortune  of  war,"  she  answered  ;  "  the 
case  was  properly  tried  by  an  impartial  court,  and  the 
defendant  should  have  taken  care  to  secure  the  services 
of  the  smarter  advocate.  It  would  be  a  lesson  to  him 
for  the  future.  The  world  would  never  get  on  if 
everyone  worried  about  things  of  that  sort." 

"  And  you  ?  "   he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"  Was  there  no  chance  of  reversing  the  judgment  ?  " 
I  inquired. 

"  None  :   it  was  irrevocable." 


THE   CYNIC   SPEAKS  173 

"  Had  the  plaintiff's  counsel  reason  to  suspect,  did 
you  say,  that  his  client's  cause  was  unjust  before  the 
verdict  was  given  ?  " 

"  He  became  practically  convinced  of  it  as  the  case 
proceeded,  but  not  absolutely  certain.  Yet  he  fought 
for  his  client  with  might  and  main." 

"  Had  the  plaintiff's  counsel  any  marbles  of  his 
own  ?  "  I  continued. 

"  He  had.     Quite  a  fair  store." 

"  Sufficient  to  pay  back  the  lad  who  had  suffered 
the  unjust  judgment  ?  " 

"  About  sufficient  ;  no  more." 

My  heart  thumped  painfully,  but  I  did  not  hesitate 
to  answer :  "I  think  he  ought  to  have  parted  with 
his  own  marbles,  and  so  redressed  the  wrong  and  saved 
his  soul." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  before  the  Cynic 
spoke  :  "  I  think  so,  too."  Then,  irrelevantly : 
"  There  is  something  about  this  northern  air  that  is 
very  bracing." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

GRACE    BECOMES     DEJECTED 

I  HAD  no  time  to  feel  depressed  after  Rose  left  on 
Saturday,  for  the  afternoon  brought  me  more 
customers  than  I  could  well  accommodate. 

My  reputation  must  have  travelled  as  far  as  Broad- 
beck,  for  the  greater  number  of  my  patrons  are  from 
that  town.  They  consist  for  the  most  part  of  engaged 
couples,  or  couples  that  obviously  intend  to  become 
engaged  ;  and  whether  it  is  the  excellence  of  my 
productions,  or  the  low  charges,  or  just  the  fun  of 
being  photographed  by  a  woman  in  a  hamlet  like 
Windyridge  that  attracts  them,  I  have  not  been  able 
to  determine,  and  it  does  not  very  much  matter. 
Mother  Hubbard,  on  the  other  hand,  finds  the  explan- 
ation simple.  I  am  the  most  talented  of  artists,  with 
all  the  indifference  of  the  genuine  genius  to  adequate 
remuneration. 

I  was  thoroughly  tired  when  tea-time  came  and  my 
day's  labours  ended,  and  was  quite  ready  to  be  petted 
and  made  a  fuss  of  by  my  dear  old  lady.  By  the  way, 
the  summer  has  unfortunately  not  brought  back  her 
old  vigour,  and  I  cannot  help  worrying  a  little  about 
her,  though  she  is  as  bright  and  optimistic  as  ever. 

I  got  a  long  letter  from  Rose  on  Monday  morning. 
It  had  been  written,  of  course,  on  the  Sunday,  whilst 


GRACE   BECOMES   DEJECTED  175 

the  scent  of  the  moors  was  still  in  her  nostrils  ;  but 
though  she  feels  the  change  pretty  badly  I  am  sure  she 
is  not  so  depressed  as  I  am.  It  must  have  taken  her 
a  heap  of  time  to  fill  so  many  sheets  of  notepaper 
with  her  small,  business-like  handwriting.  There 
were  a  good  many  sparkling  sentences  in  the  letter, 
but  I  cannot  say  that  I  felt  particularly  cheerful  when 
I  had  finished  it. 

It  appears  that  the  Cynic  was  travelling  by  the 
Midland  express,  and  they  were  companions  all  the 
way  from  Airlee.  He  was  already  in  the  train,  which 
starts  from  Broadbeck,  and  he  caught  sight  of  her  on 
the  platform.  It  seems  strange  that  he  should  have 
gone  round  that  way,  for  I  remember  he  told  us  once 
that  he  always  travelled  by  Great  Northern,  as  it  is 
the  shorter  route. 

I  fancy  he  was  rather  taken  with  Rose,  and  I  know 
she  liked  him  very  much,  for  she  said  so  quite  openly. 
It  would  do  the  Cynic  good  to  be  married,  especially 
as  he  seems  to  need  comforting,  and  Rose  is  one  of  the 
dearest  girls  in  existence,  and  would  make  him  a  good 
wife — at  least,  I  hope  she  would.  And  although  she 
has  to  earn  her  own  living,  she  is  really  very  well 
connected,  and  had  a  quite  superior  education.  It  was 
simply  her  father's  recklessness  that  threw  her  on  her 
own  resources,  and  I  should  say  that  her  origin  is  as 
good  as  the  Cynic's. 

And  yet  I  should  hardly  have  thought  that  she  was 
just  his  sort.  He  is  a  man  who  will  make  large  demands 
upon  his  wife  if  she  is  to  be  a  real  helpmeet,  and  he 


176  WINDYRIDGE 

needs  to  be  understood.  I  am  sure  Rose  did  not  under- 
stand him.  But  perhaps,  after  all,  she  would  be  very 
suitable  in  one  way.  She  is  ambitious,  and  would 
see  that  he  did  not  hide  his  light  under  a  bushel  in 
social  circles  ;  though,  to  be  sure,  society  might  turn 
up  its  nose  at  her.  It  would  worry  me  terribly  if 
anything  should  come  of  this  chance  encounter  under 
my  chaperonage,  and  either  party  should  be  unhappy. 
It  may  be  undue  sensitiveness  on  my  part,  but  I  feel 
rather  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  responsibility. 

Of  course,  looking  at  the  matter  quite  calmly,  it 
seems  ridiculous  to  be  building  air-castles  like  this, 
but  I  am  very  fond  of  Rose  and  I  would  not  for  worlds 
have  her  marry  unsuitably  ;  and  I  cannot  help  respect- 
ing the  Cynic  after  what  he  said  the  other  night.  It 
would  be  just  terrible  if  they  were  to  make  a  mess  of 
their  lives.  Marriage  is  such  a  very  serious  under- 
taking, and  lots  of  really  sensible  people  appear  to 
lose  their  heads  altogether  when  they  come  to  make  the 
important  choice.  However,  it  is  none  of  my  business, 
and  I  won't  refer  to  it  again. 

Rose  says  he  was  very  attentive  to  her  during  the 
journey,  and  handed  her  quite  a  number  of  illustrated 
papers,  including  some  ladies'  journals.  If  I  were  a 
barrister  I  should  never  dream  of  buying  papers  which 
make  their  appeal  to  the  other  sex ;  but  perhaps  he 
finds  it  necessary  to  the  study  of  human  nature.  A 
man  in  his  profession  must  have  to  be  as  many-sided 
as  a  poet. 

I  conclude  that  she  did  not  read  the  magazines,  for 


GRACE   BECOMES   DEJECTED   177 

she  says  so  much  about  their  conversation  that  it  is 
evident  there  was  little  opportunity,  and  besides,  they 
lunched  together  in  the  diner,  and  that  must  have 
taken  up  a  lot  of  time.  She  admits  that  she  teased 
him,  and  that  he  seemed  to  like  it,  but  she  does  not 
say  what  about.  He  said  the  other  day  that  she  was 
dangerous.  I  wonder  if  he  really  thought  so,  and 
is  on  his  guard  against  the  danger,  for  Rose  has  always 
been  somewhat  of  a  flirt,  and  it  would  hurt  a  man 
like  him  deeply  if  he  really  cared  and  found  she  was 

only  playing  with  him.  He  is  the  sort  that But 

I  said  I  would  not  refer  to  it,  and  here  I  am  doing  so. 

He  told  her  he  hoped  to  see  something  of  her  occa- 
sionally, and  she  was  unconventional  enough  to  hope 
the  same.  They  are  sure  to  make  opportunities  easily 
enough  when  they  are  both  in  London.  I  feel  glad  for 
Rose,  for  he  is  the  kind  of  man  who  will  steady  her  a 
bit,  but  I  hope  she —  Oh,  bother  it ! 

Madam  Rusty  received  my  kind  messages,  it  appears, 
with  apparent  indifference,  so  Rose  waxed  eloquent 
over  the  Sunday  dinner  table,  and  painted  a  picture 
of  my  surroundings  in  the  most  brilliant  colours  from 
the  palette  of  her  imagination.  She  stimulated  the 
curiosity  of  the  boarders,  who  showed  a  great  interest 
in  me  and  my  adventures,  and  were  eager  to  know 
what  kind  of  fare  was  provided  in  the  wilderness, 
and  what  was  the  character  of  the  heathen  in  whose 
midst  I  dwelt  ;  to  all  of  which  she  replied  in  a  strain 
of  subdued  enthusiasm  which  she  assured  me  carried 
conviction.  I  was  regarded,  she  informed  them,  with 

N 


178  WINDYRIDGE 

the  same  respect  as  was  naturally  accorded  to  the 
squire  of  the  place,  with  whom  I  was  on  terms  of  ex- 
treme intimacy.  Good  air  and  really  good  food  (Rose 
emphasised  this  for  madam's  benefit)  had  brought 
to  my  cheeks  the  glow  of  health  ;  and  my  abilities  had 
secured  for  me  a  clientele  which  would  make  a  West 
End  photographer  think  sad  thoughts.  This,  good- 
ness knows,  was  true  enough. 

She  went  into  ecstasies  over  Mother  Hubbard's 
cooking,  and  caused  the  company  to  believe  that  the 
fatted  calf,  and  all  other  makes  of  fatted  beasts  and 
birds  of  the  primest  and  tenderest  quality,  appeared 
upon  my  table  regularly  during  her  visit.  When  I 
remember  the  "  pot-luck  "  we  had  so  often  laughed 
over  at  dinner-time,  my  admiration  for  Rose's  imagina- 
tive faculties  assumed  huge  proportions. 

The  heathen  amongst  whom  I  dwelt  were,  it  appears, 
Nature's  gentlefolk,  hating  unreality  and  humbug  as 
they  hated  the  devil.  I  think  this  was  really  rather 
clever  of  Rose,  for  it  hits  off  some  of  my  neighbours 
exactly,  though  the  devil  with  whom  they  are  on  speak- 
ing terms  might  possibly  seem  a  mild  and  blunt-horned 
personage  to  some  of  my  London  acquaintances. 

There  was  a  good  deal  more  to  the  same  effect,  and 
having  driven  the  Rusty  one  to  the  verge  of  apoplexy, 
Rose  retired  to  her  own  room  and  penned  her  epistle. 
Seclusion  evidently  induced  reaction,  and  she  confessed 
to  the  depression  I  have  hinted  at.  I  don't  wonder, 
poor  girl.  I  should  hate  to  be  going  to  work  in  the 
crowded  city  after  having  tasted  the  freedom  of  the 


GRACE   BECOMES  DEJECTED     179 

moors.  All  the  same,  there  are  compensations  if  you 
look  for  them.  If  you  have  friends  who  are  congenial 
you  have  more  opportunities  of  seeing  them  in  a  place 
like  London.  Everybody  goes  to  London.  Perhaps 
the  Cynic  will  take  her  to  see  the  new  play  at  the 
St.  James's  Theatre.  I  shall  be  very  glad,  lam  sure, 
if  they  become  firm  friends.  My  only  doubt  is  of  Rose. 
She  is  so  thoughtless  and  flighty,  and  might  do  harm 
without  meaning  it.  ... 

Oh,  bother  it  again  !     I'm  going  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CARRIER   TED    RECEIVES    NOTICE   TO   QUIT 

1HAVE  not  been  sleeping  very  well  lately,  and  my 
dreams  have  given  me  the  creeps  and  left  me  so 
irritable  that  if  I  had  only  a  considerate  and 
philanthropic  employer  like  the  one  Rose  patronises  I 
am  sure  I  should  have  been  sent  away  somewhere  for  a 
change.  Being  my  own  employer,  I  stay  on  and  make 
Mother  Hubbard  look  worried.  And  the  worst  of  it  is 
she  does  not  discuss  my  state  of  health  as  a  sensible 
woman  should,  but  just  pets  me  and  tells  me  it  "  will 
all  come  right  in  the  end."  When  I  ask  her  what 
it  is  that  is  to  come  right  she  smiles  and  relapses 
into  silence.  If  she  were  not  so  gentle  and  loving 
and  altogether  sweet  I  should  feel  inclined  to 
shake  her. 

Did  I  not  say  that  the  devil  had  his  intimates  in 
Windyridge  ?  I  nod  to  him  myself  just  now,  but 
Simon  Barjona  Higgins  has  gone  into  business  with 
him  on  quite  a  large  scale,  and  my  friend  Maria  must 
surely  be  casting  longing  backward  glances  in  the  direc- 
tion of  widowhood.  It  makes  one  feel  that  matrimony 
is  a  snare  which  women  are  fools  to  enter  with  their 
eyes  open ;  though  I  suppose  all  men  are  not  given  up 
to  Satan. 

Fancy  Rose  saying  there  were  no  humbugs  about 


CARRIER  TED  RECEIVES  NOTICE     181 

here,  when  such  a  man  as  Barjona  flourishes  unabashed ! 
But  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  she  didn't  quite  say 
that :  she  simply  said  that  my  neighbours  hated  humbug 
as  they  hate  the  devil,  and  Barjona  loves  them  both. 
The  thought  of  him  makes  me  sick,  and  when  I  found 
out  what  an  old  Shylock  the  man  is  I  went  into  the 
studio  with  a  hammer  and  smashed  his  negatives  into 
a  hundred  pieces,  with  as  much  zest  as  if  I  had  been 
a  militant  suffragette  breaking  windows  in  Regent 
Street  under  the  eyes  of  a  scandalised  policeman. 

If  nature  had  been  clothed  in  drab  on  Wednesday 
afternoon  when  the  report  of  unusual  occurrences  in 
the  village  drew  me  to  the  little  group  of  excited  people 
who  were  discussing  them  it  would  have  been  appro- 
priate to  the  occasion.  But  she  wasn't — she  was 
dressed  in  her  gayest  and  most  captivating  summer 
clothing. 

I  think  that  in  itself  is  vexing.  Why  should  nature 
look  so  pleased  and  happy  when  people  are  miserable, 
and  so  emphasise  the  contrast  ?  If  I  am  grumpy  to 
begin  with  it  makes  me  feel  ever  so  much  worse  to 
know  that  nature  is  laughing  at  me,  and  is  just  as 
bright  and  optimistic  as  I  am  wretched.  And,  con- 
trariwise, if  I  do  wake  up  one  morning  determined  to 
"  bid  dull  care  begone  " — who  was  it  used  that  ex- 
pression recently  ? — and  be  merry  and  cheerful,  the 
skies  are  sure  to  be  like  lead,  and  the  rain  is  certain  to 
drip,  drip,  in  that  sullen,  persistent  fashion  that  would 
drive  Mark  Tapley  himself  to  pessimism.  There  is  a 
law  of  cussedness,  I  am  convinced,  and  I  believe  I 


i8a  WINDYRIDGE 

have  discovered  it.    Mother  Hubbard  says  it  is  my 

liver,  and  prescribes  pills  ! 

When  I  joined  the  group  there  were  so  many  eager 
to  tell  me  the  story  that  it  was  some  time  before  I 
could  make  out  its  purport.  By  the  way,  I  ought  to  point 
out  that  I  am  not  becoming  a  gossip,  but  I  am  inter- 
ested in  the  news  of  the  village.  We  have  no  Daily 
Mail  to  chronicle  our  doings,  and  our  methods  are 
therefore  necessarily  primitive.  Besides,  to  hold  aloof 
from  one's  neighbours  is  a  sign  of  what  Rose  calls 
"snorkiness." 

One  of  the  dearest  little  cottages  in  the  village  is 
inhabited  by  a  man  called  Carrier  Ted.  I  had  never 
been  inside  it,  but  its  picturesqueness  appeals  to  me 
every  time  I  pass  it,  and  you  may  often  see  visitors 
leaning  over  the  low  wall  of  the  garden  and  enthusing 
about  it.  It  is  just  a  little  one-storeyed,  two-roomed 
cot,  not  nearly  so  big  as  some  gentlemen's  motor 
garages,  but  large  enough  for  one  occupant,  or  even  for 
two  if  their  tastes  are  simple. 

The  ground  rises  steeply  behind  it,  and  tall  trees 
cover  the  hill  from  base  to  summit,  so  that  the  little 
white  house  is  quite  overshadowed  by  them.  I  call  it 
a  white  house,  but  the  walls  are  almost  concealed  by 
green  and  yellow  and  crimson,  where  the  canary 
creeper  and  climbing  roses  stretch  forth  their  slender 
arms  to  embrace  the  brown,  thatched  roof. 

The  garden  is  evenly  divided  into  two  parts  by  the 
flagged  footpath  which  leads  straight  to  the  door,  and 
it  is  always  ablaze  with  colour  in  the  summer  time ; 


CARRIER  TED  RECEIVES  NOTICE     183 

but  the  arrangement  is  more  orderly  than  in  some  of 
our  Windyridge  gardens,  for  Carrier  Ted,  albeit  old- 
fashioned  in  his  tastes,  is  an  epicure  in  horticulture. 
Only  a  few  days  ago  Rose  and  I  had  stopped  to  admire 
his  bloom,  and  especially  the  wonderful  moss  roses 
which  were  his  especial  pride,  and  to  have  a  word  with 
the  old  man  whose  skill  and  industry  had  aroused  my 
friend's  enthusiasm. 

When  I  first  came  to  the  village  I  took  him  to  be  of 
weak  intellect,  principally,  I  believe,  because  he  always 
wore  a  tall  silk  hat  of  antiquated  pattern.  It  was  a 
very  rough  silk  of  uncertain  colour,  and  gave  one  the 
impression  that  it  was  constantly  brushed  the  wrong 
way  ;  but  whether  working  in  the  garden  or  walking 
along  the  road,  Carrier  Ted  might  always  be  recognised 
by  his  peculiar  headgear. 

But  there  is  no  daftness  about  him  really.  He  is 
just  a  quiet,  even  taciturn  old  man,  who  is  alone  in  the 
world  and  has  saved  sufficient  money  to  enable  him  to 
spend  the  evening  of  life  in  comfort,  and  who  finds  in  his 
home  and  garden  both  business,  recreation  and  religion. 

He  is  a  little,  bent  man,  round-faced  and  ruddy  in 
spite  of  his  eighty  odd  years,  with  thick  grey  eyebrows, 
and  a  half-circle  of  beard  stretching  from  ear  to  ear 
beneath  his  chin.  When  you  praise  his  flowers  he 
pauses  for  a  moment,  draws  his  sleeve  across  his  brow 
in  a  confused  sort  of  way,  as  if  to  remove  perspiration, 
and  smiles.  The  smile  and  the  action  always  remind 
me  of  a  bashful  child  who  would  like  to  be  friendly 
but  dare  not  all  at  once.  The  smile  lights  up  his  face 


184  WINDYRIDGE 

and  reveals  the  angel  within  him  ;  but  he  answers  only 
in  monosyllables,  and  seems  relieved  when  you  pass 
on  your  way.  It  was  this  man  and  his  cottage  who 
were  the  subject  of  excited  conversation. 

"  It's  a  burnin'  shame,  Miss  'Olden,  that's  what  it 
is  !  "  exclaimed  Widow  Smithies,  "  an'  if  I'd  my  way 
I'd  wring  that  old  heathen  of  a  Barjona  his  neck  for 
'im,  that  I  would  ;  the  good-for-nowt,  graspin'  old 
money-lender  'at  he  is." 

"  He  wants  hoss-whippin',"  said  Sar'- Ann's  mother, 
"  an'  if  I  were  a  man  I'd  do  it  !  But  our  men  fowk  are 
no  more  use  nor  two  penn'orth  o'  cowd  gin,  an'  I'll 
be  bound  ther'  isn't  one  on  'em  'at '11  lift  a  little  finger 
agen  'im." 

"  An'  I'm  sure  anyone  'at  can  find  it  in  their  'eart 
to  do  ought  wrong  to  poor  old  Ted  isn't  fit  to  bide  in 
t'  village,"  said  Martha  Treffit ;  "  an'  one  'ud  ha' 
thought  wi'  'avin'  been  in  t'  same  trade,  like,  Barjona 
'ud  never  ha'  tried  to  'urt  Ted." 

"They  may  have  been  in  t'  same  trade,  Martha," 
interposed  Susannah,  "  but  Ted  comes  off  a  better 
pastur'  nor  iwer  Barjona  wa'  raised  on.  'E's  as  keen 
as  mustard,  is  Barjona,  an'  'ud  mor'gage  his  soul  for 
owt  he  took  a  fancy  tul." 

"  He's  as  'ard  as  iron  in  his  'eart,"  snapped  Mrs. 
Smithies,  "  but  as  soft  as  a  boiled  turnup  in  his  'ead. 
I'd  like  to  put  'im  through  t'  wringin'  machine,  an' 
squeeze  'im  for  once,  as  is  so  ready  to  squeeze  other 
fowk.  'Ere  comes  Reuben.  What '11  Reuben  'ave  to 
say  about  it  ;  I  wonder  ?  " 


CARRIER  TED  RECEIVES  NOTICE    185 

Reuben  shook  his  head.  "  It's  a  sad  job,  neigh- 
bours, but  law's  law,  an'  we  shall  have  to  make  t'  best 
on  't." 

"  Hark  to  him  !  "  said  Sar'- Ann's  mother  ;  "  didn't 
I  tell  you  there  isn't  a  man  in  t'  village  wi'  as  mich 
sperrit  as  a  kitlin'.  If  Reuben  won't  do  nowt  ye  can 
go  bail  'at  t'  rest  '11  noan  stir." 

"  Right's  right,  an'  law's  law,  all  the  world  over," 
said  Reuben,  shaking  his  head  ;  "  an'  it'll  be  no  manner 
o'  use  tryin'  to  persuade  Barjona  ought  different.  I 
could  easy  throw  him  on  t'  midden,  but  that  wouldn't 
mend  matters.  '  Ye  can  take  t'  horse  to  t'  water,  but 
ye  can't  make  'im  drink,'  as  t'  Owd  Book  says.  It'll 
be  a  trial  to  t'  owd  man,  but  Ted  '11  have  to  make  up 
'is  mind  to  flit." 

Reuben  walked  home  with  me  and  gave  me  a  con- 
nected account  of  what  had  happened.  "  You  see, 
Ted's  lived  i'  yon  cottage  ever  sin'  I  can  remember, 
Miss  'Olden.  I  mind  him  bringin'  his  wife  to  it,  maybe 
forty  year  sin',  though  I  were  just  a  lad  at  t'  time,  an' 
it'll  be  'appen  five  year  sin'  she  died.  They  were 
neither  on  'em  chickens  when  they  were  wed,  an'  they 
never  'ad  any  childer  ;  but  they  allus  seemed  to  get 
on  right  enough,  an'  I  don't  know  'at  I  ever  'eard 
tell  of  'em  'aving  a  wrong  word  wi'  one  another,  or 
wi'  anyone  else,  for  that  matter.  They  lived  peaceable 
wi'  all  men,  as  t'  Owd  Book  puts  it,  an'  kept  theirselves 
to  theirselves.  But  they  never  really  made  any  friends, 
as  you  may  say.  If  you  looked  in  you  were  welcome, 
but  you  were  never  asked  to  stop,  an'  they  never  called 


i86  WINDYRIDGE 

in  to  see  t'  neighbours.  His  missis  wasn't  one  o'  t' 
gossipin'  sort,  an  'e  were  away  a  good  deal  wi'  his  cart  ; 
an'  so  we  got  into  t'  'abit  o'  leavin'  'em  alone. 

"  She  must  have  been  seventy — ay,  more  than 
seventy — when  she  died  (I  believe  it  tells  on  t'  stone, 
but  I  never  took  that  much  notice),  an'  one  or  two  o' 
t'  neighbours  did  look  in  during  t'  time  'at  she  were 
ill,  an'  did  what  they  could  for  'em  both,  and  he  were 
very  grateful.  But  he  made  no  fuss,  an'  when  they 
put  her  away  'e  just  wiped  'is  sleeve  across  'is  face, 
an'  walked  back  an'  started  diggin'  a  trench  in  t'  garden. 

"  Well,  it  come  out  this  mornin'  'at  Barjona's 
bought  t'  cottage,  an'  it  appears  he  gave  Ted  notice 
to  quit  last  week-end,  an'  his  time  's  up  on  Saturda'. 
They  say  he's  goin'  to  live  there  himself,  an'  I  daresay 
it's  likely  enough.  It  belonged  to  a  young  chap  down 
i'  Fawkshill,  an'  Barjona  has  a  'old  on  him  somehow, 
an'  he's  forced  'im  to  sell.  I've  been  to  see  t'  chap  just 
now,  but  Barjona  has  got  it  right  enough,  deeds  an* 
everything,  an'  law's  law  all  the  world  over.  Ted's 
fair  rooted  in  t'  soil  o'  that  land,  but  he'll  'ave  to  shift, 
an'  quick  too.  'E's  as  hard  as  nails,  is  Barjona,  an* 
Ted  11  have  to  clear  out  on  Saturda'." 

"  But  what  a  shame  !  "  I  remarked  ;  "  could  not 
someone  be  induced  to  buy  it  from  Barjona  ?  Perhaps 
he  would  sell  at  a  profit." 

"  I'm  goin'  to  see  him  in  t'  mornin',"  replied  Reuben, 
"  but  I  durst  bet  a  five-pun  note  to  a  toothpick  'at 
he  won't  sell  at  any  figure.  I  know  Barjona.  There's 
good  wheat  i'  all  men,  but  it's  so  lost  among  t'  chaff 


CARRIER  TED  RECEIVES  NOTICE  187 
i'  Barjona's  case  'at  only  t'  Day  o'  Judgment  '11 
find  it." 

Reuben  called  the  next  day  to  report  the  fruitlessness 
of  his  mission. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said,  and  for  once  the  cheerful 
farmer  had  become  gloomy  ;  "I  haven't  got  a  right 
hang  o'  t'  words,  but  t'  Owd  Book  says  summat,  if 
I'm  not  mista'en,  about  ye  can  crush  a  man's  'ead  up 
in  a  mortar  wi'  a  pestle,  an'  if  he's  a  fool  at  t'  start, 
he'll  be  a  fool  at  t'  finish.  Barjona  says  he's  stalled 
o'  livin'  down  yonder  i'  Maria's  house  in  t'  Gap,  an' 
he's  set  'is  'eart  on  yon  cottage  o'  Ted's  ever  sin'  he 
thought  o'  gettin'  wed  again.  He's  shut  his  teeth, 
an'  ye  couldn't  prize  'em  open  wi'  a  chisel  an'  hammer." 

"  Could  the  squire  do  anything  if  I  wrote  him  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Mr.  Evans  ?  What  can  'e  do  ?  T'  cottage  isn't 
his.  Law's  law,  an'  Barjona  has  t'  law  on  his  side. 
Ye  can't  fight  agen  law.  Ted  11  have  to  shift.  It's  a 
pity,  but  it's  no  killin'  matter,  an'  'e'll  get  over  it  i' 
time." 

"  Not  if  he's  rooted  to  the  soil,"  I  said  ;  "  old  plants 
often  die  when  transplanted." 

"  Now  look  'ere,  Miss  'Olden,"  he  replied  kindly  ; 
"  don't  you  take  on  over  this  job.  You're  too  fond 
o'  suppin'  sorrow.  We  all  'ave  our  own  crosses  to 
carry,  an'  it's  right  'at  we  should  'elp  to  carry  other 
folkses.  But  it's  no  use  carryin'  theirs  unless  you  can 
lighten  t'  load  for  'em.  Frettin'  for  owd  Ted  '11  none 
make  it  any  easier  for  'im.  You  want  to  learn  'ow  to 


i88  WINDYRIDGE 

be  sorry  i'  reason,  without  frettin'  yourself  to  death. 
Why  aren't  ye  sorry  for  Barjona  ?  " 

"  The  miserable  old  fox  !  "   I  exclaimed. 

"  I  dunno  but  what  he's  more  to  be  pitied  nor  Ted," 
replied  Reuben  thoughtfully.  "  Now  you  just  study 
a  minute.  Don't  ye  think  the  Lord  '11  be  more  sorry 
to  see  Barjona's  'eart  shrivelled  up  like  a  dried  pig-skin, 
so  as  it  can't  beat  like  other  people's,  nor  what  'E  will 
for  Ted,  what's  as  'armless  as  a  baby  ?  If  I  read  t' 
Owd  Book  right  'E  allus  seemed  t'  sorriest  for  them  'at 
were  t'  worst.  'E  wept  over  Lazarus,  I  know,  but  'E 
didn't  fret  about  him  an'  his  sisters  in  t'  same  way  as 
'E  fret  over  t'  city  when  'E  wept  over  it.  You  see, 
Lazarus  'adn't  gone  wrong,  an'  t'  city  had.  Lazarus 
an' t'  girls  had  suffered  i'  their  bodies  an'  their  minds, 
same  as  we  all  'ave  to  do,  an'  same  as  Ted  is  doin',  but 
t'  city  'at  rejected  'Im  was  sufferin'  in  its  soul. 

"  No,  I  pity  Ted,  but  I  pity  Barjona  more.  It's 
t'  sick  'at  need  t'  physician,  as  t'  Owd  Book  says,  an' 
Barjona's  got  t'  fatal  disease  o'  greed  an'  selfishness 
an'  covetousness  an'  'ard-'eartedness,  wi'  all  sorts  o' 
complications,  an'  it  doesn't  make  me  pity  'im  any  less 
'at  'e  doesn't  know  'at  'e  ails  ought.  You  never  found 
the  Lord  ought  but  kind  to  them  'at  'E  drave  t'  devils 
out  of.  Now  you  think  it  over,  an'  keep  your  sperrits 
up." 

I  have  thought  it  over.  Just  now,  perhaps,  I  am 
not  in  the  mood  to  view  the  case  philosophically.  My 
own  feelings  reflect  the  mood  of  the  village  generally. 
I  don't  doubt  Barjona's  sickness,  but  my  prescription 


CARRIER  TED  RECEIVES  NOTICE  189 

would  be  a  drastic  one,  and  whipping  with  scorpions 
would  be  too  good  for  him.  There  are  some  people 
whom  kindness  does  not  cure,  and  I  imagine  Barjona 
to  be  one  of  them. 

I  would  go  over  to  see  Maria,  but  Farmer  Goodenough 
is  emphatic  that  I  ought  not  to  interfere.  "It's  ill 
comin'  between  married  fowk,"  he  says.  He  is  sure 
I  should  make  trouble,  and  he  is  very  likely  right.  I 
was  astonished  when  I  heard  that  Barjona  had  left  his 
lodgings  and  gone  to  live  in  the  Gap,  for  it  certainly 
seems  out  of  the  way  for  his  business ;  but  he  has  no 
right  to  disturb  poor  old  Ted  for  his  own  convenience. 
I  hope  judgment  will  overtake  him  speedily. 

Did  I  not  say  I  had  a  nodding  acquaintance  with 
the  devil  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BARJONA'S  DOWNFALL 

SOON  after  breakfast  on  Saturday  a  furniture  cart 
stopped  at  Carrier  Ted's  gate,  and  the  village 
turned  out  en  masse.  There  had  been  a  heavy 
downpour  of  rain  during  the  night,  but  the  sun 
struggled  through  the  clouds  at  breakfast  time,  and  by 
nine  o'clock  had  gained  the  mastery.  It  was  dirty  on 
the  roadway,  so  the  half-dozen  neighbourly  men  who 
were  piling  the  household  effects  on  to  the  cart  had 
to  be  careful  not  to  rest  them  in  the  mud. 

Not  that  Carrier  Ted  cared  anything  about  it.  He 
stood  in  the  garden  with  the  old  silk  hat  pushed  deep 
down  over  his  brow,  and  looked  abstractedly  at  his 
peonies.  He  seemed  oblivious  to  the  busy  scene  that 
was  being  enacted  about  him  :  of  all  the  spectators  he 
was  the  least  moved  :  he,  the  most  interested  of  all, 
was  less  interested  than  any. 

By  and  by  Barjona  drove  up  and  was  greeted  with 
scowls  and  muttered  imprecations.  Two  or  three  of 
the  women  went  a  step  beyond  muttering,  and  expressed 
their  views  in  terms  that  lacked  nothing  of  directness. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yerself,  Barjona 
Higgins  !  "  said  one  ;  "  yes,  you  ought  !  To  turn 
the  old  man  out  of  his  'ome  at  his  time  o'  life.  You'd 
turn  a  corpse  out  of  its  coffin,  you  would  !  " 


BARJONA'S   DOWNFALL          igi 

Barjona's  cold  eyes  contracted.  "  What's  wrong  now, 
eh  ?  "  he  jerked  ;  "  house  is  mine,  isn't  it  ?  .... 
Paid  good  money  for  it.  ...  Can  do  as  I  like  wi'  my 
own,  can't  I  ?  .  .  .  You  mind  your  business ;  I'll 
mind  mine." 

He  walked  up  the  path  to  the  house,  merely  nodding 
to  Ted  as  he  passed  ;  but  Ted  did  not  see  him. 

After  a  while  he  returned  and  went  up  to  the  old 
man,  and  shouted  in  his  ear  as  though  he  were  deaf, 
so  that  we  all  could  hear  : 

"  There'll  be  a  bit  o'  plasterin'  to  do  ...  your 
expense  ...  an'  there's  a  cracked  winda-pane  .  .  . 
yell  pay  for  that,  Ted  ?  " 

The  old  man  looked  up  and  passed  his  sleeve  across 
his  brow,  then  rubbed  his  knuckles  in  his  eyes  as 
though  awaking  from  sleep. 

"  Owt  'at's  right,  Barjona  ;  owt  'at's  right,  lad." 

Reuben  Goodenough's  eldest  son  was  passing  at  the 
time,  with  a  heavy  fender  over  his  shoulder.  Hearing 
these  words  he  stopped,  and  I  thought  for  a  moment 
that  he  was  going  to  bring  it  down  on  Barjona's  head, 
but  with  an  angry  gesture  he  moved  on  and  deposited 
his  burden  on  the  cart.  Then  he  went  up  to  the  new 
owner  and  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder.  How 
I  admired  the  strong,  well-set  man,  and  the  man  within 
him. 

"  Mr.  Higgins,"  he  said,  "  you  can  see  for  yourself 
'at  Ted  isn't  fit  for  business.  If  you've  ought  to  say, 
say  it  to  me.  I'm  actin'  for  'im." 

There  had  been  no  such  arrangement,  of  course, 


ig2  WINDYRIDGE 

but  this  provisional  government  met  with  the  approval 
of  the  crowd. 

"  That's  right,  Ben  lad,  you  tak'  both  t'  reins  an' 
t'  whip  !  "  shouted  Sar'-Ann's  mother  ;  "  I'm  fain 
to  see  there's  one  man  in  t'  village." 

"  Now,  you  look  here,  Mr.  Higgins,"  continued  Ben, 
thus  encouraged,  "  ought  'at  it's  right  for  Ted  to  pay 
shall  be  paid,  but  you  send  your  list  an'  bill  in  to  me, 
an'  if  my  father  an'  me  passes  it  ye '11  be  paid,  an'  if 
we  don't  ye  won't  ;  so  you  can  put  that  in  your  pipe 
an'  smoke  it." 

"  Keep  cool,  Ben,  keep  cool  !  "  said  Barjona,  who 
himself  was  not  in  the  least  ruffled  ;  "  only  want  what's 
right,  you  know  .  .  .  only  what's  right.  .  .  .  You  or 
Ted,  Ted  or  you  ...  all  the  same  to  me." 

"  I  feel  dead  beat,  lad,"  said  Ted,  who  still  seemed 
dazed  ;  "  I'll  go  inside  an'  lie  down  a  bit." 

Ben  motioned  to  me,  and  I  stepped  through  the  gate 
and  joined  them. 

"  Ted's  tired,"  he  said,  "  and  wants  to  lie  down. 
Would  you  mind  taking  him  across  to  Susannah's  and 
askin'  her  to  let  'im  rest  on  t'  sofa  a  bit  ?  "  Then 
turning  to  the  old  man  he  said  :  "Go  with  this  lady, 
Ted :  go  with  Miss  Holden.  We've  nearly  finished 
packing  all  your  stuff  on  t'  cart,  you  know.  But 
Susannah  11  get  you  a  sup  o'  something  warm,  an' 
you  can  lie  down  on  her  sofa,  an'  Miss  Holden  '11  talk 
to  you  a  bit."  He  spoke  soothingly,  as  to  a  child,  and 
the  old  man  turned  his  eyes  upon  me. 

"  Shoo's  a  stranger,  Ben  ?  " 


BARJONA'S   DOWNFALL          193 

"  Nay,  she's  lived  here  a  twelvemonth,  Ted.  Now 
come,  you  go  with  'er.  She'll  look  after  you  nicely." 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away,  but  when  we 
reached  the  group  about  the  gate  he  would  go  no 
farther,  but  suddenly  found  tongue,  and  began  to 
speak  in  a  ruminating  way,  looking  first  at  one  and 
then  another,  but  keeping  fast  hold  of  my  arm. 

"  Ye '11  none  o'  ye  mind  my  mother  ?  No,  no,  ye 're 
ower  young,  all  o'  ye.  It'll  be  seventy  year  an'  more 
sin'  she  died,  an'  I  wor  only  a  lad  at  t'  time.  That 
wor  her  rockin'-chair  'at  they're  puttin'  on  t'  cart, 
an'  when  I  browt  my  missis  'ome,  shoo  hed  it.  First 
my  mother,  neighbours,  an'  then  t'  missis  ;  an'  t' 
owd  chair  lasts  'em  both  out,  an'  11  last  me  out.  I 
nivver  thowt  but  it  'ud  stand  there  aside  o' t'  chimley 
till  they  carried  me  out  o'  t'  door,  feet  for'most.  T' 
old  chair  '11  feel  kind  o'  lonesome,  neighbours,  kind  o' 
lonesome,  in  a  strange  kitchin." 

"  Nivver  'eed,  lad,"  said  one  of  the  older  women ; 
"  ye '11  be  varry  comfortable  down  i'  t'  Clough." 

"  Aye,  happen  so,"  he  replied,  "  but  lonesome, 
neighbours,  lonesome.  There  isn't  a  crack  i'  t'  beams 
but  what  looked  friendly-like,  for  we've  grown  old 
together  ;  an'  all  t'  furnitur'  spake  to  me  abaht  old 
times,  for  I  nivver  shifted  'em  out  o'  their  places. 
An'  them  two  chaney  orniments  o'  t'  chimley- piece, 
they  wor  allus  comp'ny,  too — Duke  o'  Wellington  an' 
Lord  Nelson,  they  are.  My  mother  wor  varry  proud 
on  'em  i'  her  time,  an'  t'  missis  wor  just  t'  same  ; 

an'  sin'  shoo  went  they've  allus  felt  to   be  comp'ny 

o 


194  WINDYRIDGE 

like.     I  doubt  they'll  niwer  look  t'  same  on  another 

chimley-piece." 

"It's  a  shame  'at  'e's  turned  ye  out,  Ted,"  said 
Susannah,  "  an'  I  'ope  'e'll  'ave  to  suffer  for  it,  I  do." 

"  Aye,  lass,"  he  replied,  "  I  could  ha'  liked  well  to 
ha'  drawn  my  last  breath  i'  t'  old  cottage,  I  could,  for 
sure.  I  think  Barjona  mud  ha'  let  me  live  on  i'  t' 
old  'ome.  I  shouldn't  ha'  troubled  'im  so  long — not  so 
long." 

"  Come  inside,  Ted,"  said  Susannah,  whose  eyes 
were  filling  with  tears,  "  an'  lie  down  while  I  get  you 
a  sup  o'  tea." 

He  appeared  not  to  hear  her,  however,  but  stared 
fixedly  at  the  flagged  footpath  and  muttered,  as  he 
slowly  shook  his  head  : 

"  I  shouldn't  ha'  troubled  'im  so  long— not  so  long." 

Somebody  fetched  him  a  stool,  and  he  sat  down 
outside  the  gate  with  his  back  against  the  wall,  whilst 
the  women  sympathised  volubly,  arms  akimbo. 

It  was  very  pathetic,  but  no  words  of  comfort  came 
to  my  lips,  though  my  heart  ached  for  the  silent  old 
man  who  was  leaving  behind  everything  that  counted 
in  life,  and  who  was  sure  to  feel  keenly  the  loss  of 
familiar  faces  and  friendly  looks,  even  though  he  had 
not  shown  himself  neighbourly.  I  said  something  of 
the  sort  to  Mother  Hubbard,  who  had  now  joined  us, 
but  she  was  doubtful. 

"  Well,  love,  I  don't  know.  Ted  has  never  shown 
much  feeling.  I  have  known  him  nearly  all  his  life, 
and  I  don't  think  he  has  very  deep  feelings,  love.  He 


BARJONA'S    DOWNFALL          195 

always  seemed  friendly  with  his  wife,  but  not  what 
you  would  call  affectionate,  you  know,  love.  Of 
course,  one  doesn't  know  what  he  really  felt  when  she 
died,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  trouble  him  very  much." 

"  That  proves  nothing,"  I  replied,  with  the  emphasis 
born  of  observation  ;  "  the  proverb  says  that  '  still 
waters  run  deep,'  and  it  is  never  more  true  than  in  this 
connection.  The  wailing  widower  is  usually  easily 
consoled." 

"  Yes,  love,  but  I  have  discovered  that  you  are  very 
imaginative  though  at  one  time  I  didn't  think  so, 
and  you  may  read  your  own  feelings  into  Ted's,  you 
know.  I  really  do  think,  love,  that  he  has  not  very  deep 
feelings." 

Soon  everything  was  piled  upon  the  cart,  and  Ben 
Goodenough  came  up  to  the  old  man  to  inform  him 
that  they  were  ready  to  leave. 

"  Now,  Ted  !  "  he  said,  with  an  assumption  of 
cheerfulness  ;  "  we've  got  everything  on  nicely,  an' 
we'll  step  down  with  you  to  t'  Clough  an'  get  'em  into 
their  places  at  t'  other  end.  You'll  want  to  have  a 
look  round,  'appen,  before  we  leave." 

"  Aye,  Ben  lad,  I  tak'  it  varry  kindly  'at  ye're  givin' 
yerself  all  this  trouble.  It's  friendly,  lad,  friendly. 
Aye,  I  sud  like  to  hev  a  look  round  for  t'  last  time  afore 
we  start." 

He  rose  wearily  and  accompanied  Ben  up  the  path. 
Barjona  was  standing  at  the  door,  and  all  three  went 
in.  They  came  out  before  long,  and  there  were  no 
traces  of  emotion  on  Ted's  ruddy  face.  But  as  he 


196  WINDYRIDGE 

looked  up  and  down  the  garden  his  lips  quivered, 
though  he  mastered  himself  with  an  effort.  The  gladioli 
and  hollyhocks  made  a  brave  show  amid  the  humbler 
sweet-williams  and  marigolds,  but  they  would  have 
to  be  left.  He  stopped  opposite  the  rose-bush. 

"  Ben,  lad,"  he  said,  "  ye'll  do  me  one  more  favour, 
willn't  ye  ?  Get  me  a  spade  off  o'  t'  cart,  will  ye  ? 
I've  left  it  till  t'  last  minute,  for  I  can  'ardly  bide  to 
root  it  up,  but  I  munnut  leave  that  tree  be'ind." 

One  of  the  men  had  darted  off  at  the  mention  of 
the  word  "  spade,"  and  the  beloved  implement — 
the  old  man's  faithful  friend — was  placed  in  his 
hand. 

"  Thee  an'  me's  hed  monny  a  grand  time  together, 
lad,"  he  said,  apostrophising  the  spade,  "  but  nivver 
such  a  sad  job  as  this  afore.  A  sad  job,  aye,  a  sad  job. 
But  we've  got  to  do  it,  lad,  ye  an'  me." 

He  put  his  foot  upon  it  and  prepared  to  dig  up  the 
tree,  when  Barjona  interposed.  Every  word  was 
clearly  heard  by  the  group  in  the  roadway. 

"  Steady  there  !  .  .  .  what  ye  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"  Nobbut  just  dig  t'  tree  up,  Barjona." 

"Leave  t'  tree  alone  .  .  .  that  tree's  mine." 

Ted  looked  at  him  and  his  hands  began  to  tremble. 
"  Ye  don't  meean,  Barjona,  'at  ye  won't  let  me  tak' 
t'  rose-tree  away  wi'  me  ?  " 

"  Ye  tak'  nowt  out  of  t'  garden  ...  all  what's 
rooted  in  t'  soil  belongs  to  me  ...  paid  good  money 
for  it.  ...  Put  yer  spade  away." 

"  Look  'ere,  Mr.  Higgins,"  interrupted  Ben,  "  do 


BARJONA'S  DOWNFALL  197 
you  mean  to  tell  me  'at  you're  going  to  prevent  Ted 
takin'  a  bit  of  a  rose-tree  with  him  ?  If  you  do,  you're 
a  harder- 'earted  old  wretch  than  I  took  you  for." 

Angry  murmurs  arose  from  the  crowd,  but  Bar- 
jona's  jaw  stiffened  and  there  was  no  hint  of  yielding 
in  his  tone. 

"  Right's  right,"  he  said  ..."  that  rose-tree's 
mine  .  .  .  took  a  partic'lar  fancy  to  it  ...  won't 
part  with  it  for  nob'dy." 

Ted  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  produced  a  wash- 
leather  bag,  the  neck  of  which  was  tied  round  with 
string.  With  shaking  fingers  he  felt  for  a  coin  and 
drew  out  a  half-sovereign. 

"  I'll  pay  ye  for't,  Barjona.  Sitha,  I'll  give  ye  ten 
shillin'  for  t'  plant." 

"  Put  yer  brass  back,  Ted  .  .  .  brass  willn't  buy  it 
.  .  .  took  my  fancy,  that  tree  has  .  .  .  you  mun  buy 
another." 

Sar '-Ann's  mother  pushed  her  way  through  and 
strode  up  to  the  stubborn,  grasping  man,  and  shook 
her  fist  in  his  face. 

"  You  miserable  old  devil !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  if 
I  were  only  a  man  I'd  thrash  ye  while  ever  I  could 
stand  over  ye.  Yes,  I  would,  if  they  sent  me  to  gaoJ 
for  't.  I  wish  the  earth  'ud  open  an'  swalla'  ye  up. 
But  t'  varry  worms  'ud  turn  at  ye." 

Barjona  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers 
pockets  and  assumed  an  air  of  weariness. 

"  Isn't  there  a  man  among  ye  ?  "  continued  the 
infuriated  woman.  "  Ben,  haven't  ye  spunk  enough  to 


igS  WINDYRIDGE 

fell  'im  to  t'  ground  ?    Eh,  these  men  !    God  forgive 

me  'at  I  call  'em  men !  " 

She  fell  back,  and  burst  into  hysterical  tears,  and 
Ben  made  another  attempt. 

"  What  the  hangment  do  ye  mean  by  it,  Mr.  Higgins  ? 
Have  ye  no  'eart  at  all  ?  Yell  never  miss  t'  tree.  I'll 
give  you  two  just  as  good  out  of  our  own  garden,  hanged 
if  I  won't.  Let  him  take  t'  tree,  an'  we'll  be  going." 

"  He — leaves — that — tree — where — it — is,"  replied 
Barjona  with  emphasis  ;  "  an'  ye  can  all  clear  out  o' 
this  garden.  .  .  .  That  tree's  mine." 

Ben  took  Ted's  arm,  but  the  old  man  refused  to 
move.  A  tear  forced  its  way  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  and  he  drew  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  from  his 
trousers'  pocket  and  wiped  it  away. 

"  Barjona,  lad,"  he  pleaded  tremulously,  "  only 
just  this  one  tree — nowt  else  ;  just  this  one  tree,  there's 
a  good  lad." 

"  I've  said  my  say,"  replied  Barjona. 

"Take  no  notice  of  him,  Ted,"  said  Ben.  "I'll 
give  you  one  o'  t'  grandest  rose-trees  i'  Yorkshire. 
Let  t'  old  skinflint  have  his  tree." 

"  Nay,  but  I  mun  hev  it,  I  mun  hev  it,"  moaned 
the  old  man.  "  I  mun  hev  it,  lad  ;  I  mun  hev  it." 

I  wondered  if  I  could  influence  Barjona,  and  I 
stepped  up  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Higgins,  you  see  how  distressed  Ted  is.  Surely 
you  will  not  make  the  parting  more  bitter  for  him. 
Think  how  unpleasant  it  will  be  for  you  to  live  among 
us  if  you  make  us  all  your  enemies." 


BARJONA'S   DOWNFALL          199 

'  Much  obliged,  Miss  'Olden.  ...  If  you  mind  your 
business  .  .  .  I'll  mind  mine." 

"  But  why  are  you  so  set  upon  it,  Mr.  Higgins  ?  " 

"  'Cos  I  am  ...  that's  enough  .  .  .  that  plant's 
mine,  an'  mine  it's  goin'  to  be." 

I  turned  to  Ted.  "  Cannot  you  make  up  your  mind 
to  do  without  it  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Do  you  want  it  so  very 
much  ?  " 

He  nodded,  and  the  tears  now  followed  each  other 
fast  down  his  cheeks.  "  I  mun  hev  it  ;  I  mun  hev 
it,"  he  moaned. 

We  were  all  gathered  round  now ;  not  a  soul 
was  left  in  the  roadway,  and  the  flower-beds  were 
suffering. 

"  But  why  ?  "  I  persisted.  "  What  makes  you  so 
very  anxious  to  have  it  ?  You  shall  have  another 
just  as  fine.  Why  do  you  want  this  particular  one 
so  badly  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  raised  his  sleeve  to  his  brow 
with  the  old  nervous,  familiar  action. 

"  Cannot  you  tell  me  ?  "   I  asked. 

Then  the  answer  came,  low  but  clearly  heard  by 
everybody  :  "  Shoo  liked  it  !  " 

The  shame  of  the  confession  made  him  shake  from 
head  to  foot,  but  the  revelation  of  unsuspected  deeps 
thrilled  us,  everyone,  and  set  us  on  fire  with  indignation 
and  contempt. 

"  You  heard  him  !  "  I  said,  turning  to  Barjona. 
"  Now  listen  1  I  will  give  you  five  pounds  for  that 
rose-bush." 


200  WINDYRIDGE 

"  That — tree — will — bide — where — it — is,"  replied 
Barjona  doggedly. 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  crowd  as  a  raging 
woman  forced  her  way  through.  She  was  hatless,  like 
the  rest  of  us,  but  her  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbows. 
Until  I  noticed  the  tightly-coiled  hair  I  did  not  recognise 
Barjona's  wife,  for  the  usually  pleasant  face  was 
clouded  in  storm. 

She  strode  up  to  her  husband  and  seized  him  by  the 
collar  of  his  coat  with  both  hands. 

"  You  heartless  rascal  !  "  she  hissed  in  his  ears  ; 
"  so  this  is  your  blessed  secret  'at  you've  kept  for  a 
surprise,  is  it  ?  I'll  surprise  ye,  ye  good-for-nowt  old 
Jew.  What  do  ye  mean  by  it,  eh  ?  "  She  shook  him 
as  if  he  had  been  a  lad  of  ten,  and  he  was  helpless  in 
her  grip. 

"  You  leave  me  alone  !  "  he  threatened,  but  all  the 
brag  was  gone  from  him. 

"  Leave — you — alone  !  "  she  hissed  between  her 
clenched  teeth  ;  "  I  wish  to  God  I  had  ;  but  I  took  ye 
for  better  or  worse,  an'  it  isn't  goin'  to  be  all  worse, 
I  can  tell  ye  !  I  hearkened  to  ye  while  I  could  'earken 
no  longer.  The  Lord  gi'  me  grace  to  keep  my  'ands 
off  o'  ye  !  " 

It  was  a  remarkably  futile  prayer,  seeing  that  she 
was  holding  him  as  in  a  vice,  and  shaking  him  at 
intervals. 

"D'ye  think  I'd  ever  live  'ere,  an'  let  a  poor  old  man 
like  Ted  fend  for  hisself  anywhere  ?  What  do  ye  take 
me  for  ?  Ye  knew  better  than  to  tell  me  while  ye'd 


BARJONA'S  DOWNFALL  201 
gotten  yer  dirty  work  done,  but  thank  the  Lord  I 
was  just  in  time.  'Ere,  get  away  !  I'm  stalled  o' 
talkin'  to  ye  !  " 

She  pushed  him  away  roughly,  but  he  made  one  more 
sulky  struggle  for  mastery. 

"  Are  ye  t'  boss  'ere,  or  am  I  ?  "  he  growled  ;  "  I've 
bought  it  ...  an'  I'll  live  in  it." 

"  Will  ye  ?  "  she  said  with  scorn,  "  then  yell  live 
by  yersen.  But  I'll  show  ye  who's  t'  boss.  You 
may  thank  the  Lord  'at  ye've  got  a  wife  wi'  a  bit  o' 
gumption.  Ye  shall  be  t'  master  when  ye  can  master 
yersen.  I'm  fair  shamed  o'  ye  !  We'll  'appen  live  'ere 
when  owt  'appens  Ted,  but  never  as  long  as  'e  wants  it ; 
so  that's  flat  !  " 

The  crowd  cheered,  and  Maria  brightened  visibly. 
"  Nay,  to  be  sure,  Miss  'Olden,  an'  friends,"  she  said, 
"  to  think  'at  any  'us band  o'  mine  should  disgrace 
hisself  an'  me  i'  this  fashion  !  I  never  knew  a  word, 
believe  me,  while  'alf  an  hour  sin'  when  I  chanced 
across  young  Smiddles,  an'  he  let  into  me  right  an' 
left.  I  can  tell  you  I  didn't  let  t'  grass  grow  under  my 
feet  afore  I  set  off  'ere.  Don't  you  fret,  Ted,  lad  ! 
Turn  ye  out  ?  Not  we  !  Sitha,  Barjona's  fair  shamed 
of  hisself,  an'  well  he  might  be.  Nay,  to  be  sure,  I 
stood  at  back  on  ye  all  an'  hearkened  while  my  blood 
boiled.  He  must  ha'  been  wrong  i'  his  'ead,  Barjona 
must.  Come,  friends,  get  out  o'  t'  gate,  an'  we'll 
carry  t'  furnitur'  in  agen,  an'  soon  hev  t'  place  to  rights. 
Now  you  can  stop  that  mutterin',  Barjona,  an'  just 
get  into  t'  trap  out  o' t'  road  !  " 


202  WINDYRIDGE 

Many  willing  hands  made  the  task  a  light  one,  and 
in  an  hour's  time  the  cottage  had  assumed  its  old  aspect, 
and  the  women  had  swept  and  dusted  and  given  the 
finishing  touches  to  everything.  Mrs.  Higgins  was 
critical,  but  expressed  herself  satisfied  at  last.  Then 
she  climbed  into  the  trap  and  seated  herself  beside 
her  husband. 

"  Good-bye,  friends,"  she  shouted,  as  they  drove 
off.  "  Don't  ye  worry.  He  can  drive  t'  owd  mare, 
but  'e  can't  drive  me.  I'll  bring  'im  to  'is  sops  !  " 

"  Gosh  !  "  snapped  Sar'- Ann's  mother,  "  now  that's 
some  bit  like  !  Gi'me  a  woman  for  mettle  an'  sperrit  ! 
Lord  'elp  us,  but  I  reckon  nowt  o'  such  a  white-livered 
lot  o'  men  as  we  hev  i'  Windyridge.  She'll  mak'  a 
man  o'  yon  old  rascal  yet,  will  Maria  !  " 

As  I  looked  back  on  my  way  home  I  saw  that  Ted 
had  fetched  his  rake,  and  was  busy  getting  the  garden 
into  order  again. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    CYNIC'S    RENUNCIATION 

EXCITEMENTS  tread  upon  each  other's  heels. 
After  Barjona,  the  Cynic.  He  appeared  un- 
expectedly on  Monday  morning,  and  I  took 
the  long-promised  photographs,  which  have  turned  out 
very  badly  ;  why,  I  don't  know.  He  was  not  in  his 
Sunday  best,  so  the  fault  did  not  lie  there  ;  and  his 
expression  was  all  right,  but  I  could  not  catch  it  on 
the  plate,  try  as  I  might.  He  was  very  much  amused, 
and  accused  me  of  looking  haggard  over  the  business, 
which  was  absurd.  Every  photographer  is  anxious  to 
secure  a  satisfactory  result,  or  if  he  is  not  he  does  not 
deserve  to  succeed.  I  think  really  I  was  afraid  of  his 
waxing  sarcastic  over  my  attempts  at  pourtraying 
his  features.  He  is  not  a  handsome  man,  as  I  may 
have  remarked  before,  but  he  is  not  the  sort  that  passes 
unnoticed,  and  I  wanted  to  secure  on  the  plate  the 
something  that  makes  people  look  twice  at  him  ;  and  I 
failed.  I  took  several  negatives,  but  none  of  them  was 
half  as  nice  as  the  original ;  and  yet  we  are  told  that 
photography  flatters  ! 

He  professed  an  indifference  which  I  am  afraid  he  felt, 
and  Mother  Hubbard  assured  him  over  the  dinner-table 
that  there  was  not  the  slightest  ground  for  anxiety. 
It  will  be  a  long  time,  I  fear,  before  he  gets  the  proofs. 


204  WINDYRIDGE 

He  stayed  to  dinner  on  his  own  invitation,  and 
Mother  Hubbard  prepared  one  of  her  extra  special 
Yorkshire  puddings  in  his  honour.  Fortunately,  we  had 
not  cooked  the  beef  on  the  Sunday,  or  he  would  have 
had  to  be  content  with  the  remains  of  the  cold  joint, 
and  though  I  should  not  have  minded,  I  know  Mother 
Hubbard  would  have  been  greatly  distressed. 

He  spoke  quite  naturally  about  Rose,  and  appeared 
to  have  enjoyed  her  company  immensely,  but  he  had 
not  seen  her  again  up  to  then. 

When  the  meal  was  over  we  went  out  into  the 
garden  and  sat  down,  and  somehow  or  other  the  sense 
of  quiet  and  the  beauty  of  the  view  soothed  me,  and 
I  felt  less  irritable  than  for  days  past.  I  never  get 
tired  of  the  dip  of  green  fields  and  the  stretch  of  moor 
on  the  far  side  of  the  wood. 

"  Can  you  spare  me  a  full  hour,  Miss  Holden  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  I  have  come  down  specially  to  see  you, 
principally  because  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Evans  which  in  some  measure  concerns  you,  and  also 
because  I  want  to  continue  the  discussion  of  the  parable 
of  the  marbles  which  we  were  considering  the  other 
evening." 

How  pretty  the  landscape  looked  from  our  garden  ! 
Cloud  shadows  were  racing  each  other  across  the 
pastures  as  I  lay  back  and  watched  them,  and  I  thought 
the  view  had  never  been  bonnier. 

"  I  am  not  overworked,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  can 
give  up  a  whole  afternoon,  if  necessary.  What  is  the 
news  from  the  squire  ?  Nothing  serious,  I  hope  ;  and 


THE   CYNIC'S    RENUNCIATION  205 

yet  it  must  be  important  to  bring  you  down  here 
specially." 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say.  Something  in  his 
letter  conveys  the  impression  that  he  is  far  from  well 
again,  though  he  does  not  definitely  say  so.  But  it 
appears  that  he  has  asked  you  to  go  out  to  him  if  he 
becomes  seriously  ill.  That  is  so,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "and  I  have  promised  to  go. 
It  touches  me  deeply  that  he  should  want  me." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  he  said  ;  but  whether  at  my 
emotion  or  the  squire's  proposal  did  not  transpire. 

"  If  and  when  he  sends  for  you,"  he  continued, 
"  he  wishes  you  to  communicate  with  me,  and  he  asks 
me  to  make  all  the  business  arrangements  for  you.  I 
need  hardly  say  that  it  will  afford  me  much  pleasure 
to  do  whatever  I  can.  I  will  give  you  my  Broadbeck 
and  town  addresses,  and  if  you  will  wire  me  whenever 
you  need  my  services  I  will  reply  at  once.  Please  don't 
feel  obliged  to  look  anything  up  for  yourself,  as  I  will  see 
to  every  detail,  and  provide  all  that  is  necessary  for  the 
journey  in  accordance  with  my  old  friend's  instructions." 

"It  is  extremely  good  of  you,"  I  said,  "  and  very 
thoughtful  on  the  squire's  part.  I  accept  your  offer 
gratefully.  But  do  you  think  there  is  much  likelihood 
of  my  being  sent  for  ?  " 

"  Candidly,  I  think  there  is  ;  equally  candidly,  I 
hope  the  necessity  may  not  arise.  If  the.  end  comes 
whilst  he  is  abroad,  a  man  ought  by  all  means  to  be 
present,  for  there  will  be  no  end  of  difficulties,  and  it 
will  be  absolutely  necessary  for  someone  to  go  out. 


206  WINDYRIDGE 

But  that  takes  time,  and  meanwhile  the  position 
would  not  be  a  pleasant  one  for  you.  I  would  go  to 
him  myself  now  but  for  two  insuperable  difficulties, 
one  being  that  certain  important  duties  keep  me  in 
London  at  present,  and  the  other  that  Mr.  Evans  most 
distinctly  does  not  want  me." 

"  I  quite  see  what  you  mean,"  I  said  ;  "  but  if  the 
worst  happens,  and  I  am  there  at  the  time,  I  shall  do 
my  best  and  not  mind  the  unpleasantness." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  returned,  "  but  you  don't  at 
all  realise  what  is  involved.  However,  we  won't  dis- 
cuss this  further.  On  his  account  I  should  be  heartily 
glad  for  you  to  go,  and  I  am  relieved  that  he  has  had 
the  good  sense  to  suggest  it." 

"  I  regard  him  very  highly,"  I  said. 

"  You  do  more  :  you  love  him,"  he  remarked,  with 
a  sharp,  keen  glance  at  my  face. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  love  him,"  I  replied  without  con- 
fusion. "  I  could  easily  be  his  daughter  ;  we  have 
much  in  common." 

He  said  nothing  for  quite  a  long  time,  during  which 
he  threw  his  cigarette  away  and  lit  a  pipe.  Then  he- 
turned  to  me  : 

"  Now  for  my  parable." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  tell  me  about  it." 

"  You  guessed,  of  course,  that  it  is  a  matter  that 
affects  me  deeply  and  seriously  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  so.  I  could  not  be  certain,  of  course, 
but  I  felt  that  it  was  much  more  than  an  ethical 
conundrum." 


THE  CYNIC'S   RENUNCIATION  207 

"  God  knows  it  was,  and  He  knows,  too,  that  I  am 
grateful  to  you  for  the  clear  lead  you  gave,  suspecting, 
as  you  must  have  done,  that  it  meant  much  to  me." 

Had  I  suspected  ?  I  suppose  I  did,  for  my  heart, 
I  remember,  beat  painfully ;  yet  I  had  not  thought 
much  more  of  it  since.  I  looked  at  him,  and  saw  that 
his  face  was  white  but  resolute,  and  I  said  hesitatingly  : 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  are  in  trouble,  but  Farmer 
Goodenough  thinks  that  troubles  are  blessings  in 
disguise.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  more  than  second- 
hand comfort." 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  exactly  where  I  stand,"  he 
said,  "  and  you  must  not  allow  your  woman's  instinct 
of  comfort  to  cloud  or  bias  your  judgment.  Good- 
enough  may  be  right,  but  if  I  take  the  step  I  contem- 
plate it  will  not  be  because  I  expect  good  to  result  to 
myself — though  there  may  be,  no  doubt,  a  certain 
spiritual  gain — but  because  it  is  the  only  course  possible 
to  me  if  I  am  to  retain  my  self-respect. 

"  You  will  hardly  have  heard  of  a  rather  prominent 
case  in  which  I  figured  recently  as  counsel  for  the 
plaintiff." 

"  Lessingham  versus  Mainwaring  ?  "  I  queried. 

"  You  have  heard  of  it  then  ?  Do  you  know  the 
details  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  simply  read  in  the  paper  that  you 
had  won  the  case  for  your  client." 

"  I  see.  Well,  it  would  take  too  long,  and  would 
be  too  uninteresting  to  you  to  explain  everything,  but 
put  briefly  the  case  was  this.  Mainwaring  had  got 


208  WINDYRIDGE 

hold  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money — over  £7,000,  as 
a  matter  of  fact — which  Lessingham  claimed  belonged 
to  him.  There  were  a  great  many  points  which  were 
interesting  to  lawyers,  and  when  the  plaintiff's  brief 
was  offered  to  me  I  jumped  at  it.  A  barrister  has  often 
to  wait  a  long  time  before  any  plums  fall  to  his  share, 
but  this  was  a  big  one,  for  the  other  side  had  engaged 
two  of  the  most  eminent  counsel  in  the  land  ;  and  I 
had  a  big  figure  marked  on  my  brief. 

"  We  had  a  tremendous  fight,  and  in  the  heat  of  the 
forensic  duel  I  lost  sight  of  everything  except  the  one 
goal  of  triumphant  and  overwhelming  victory.  I  have 
no  desire  to  speak  of  my  accomplishment  in  terms  that 
may  sound  egotistical,  but  I  may  say  without  affec- 
tation that  I  found  all  the  weak  places  in  the  defence 
and  used  every  talent  I  could  command  to  crush  my 
opponents,  and  I  succeeded,  and  became  for  a  week 
one  of  the  most  talked-of  men  in  London.  Outwardly 
collected,  I  was  inwardly  exalted  above  measure,  for 
I  knew  what  the  winning  of  the  case  meant  for  me. 

"  I  say  I  knew.  I  should  have  said  I  thought  I  knew. 
All  I  realised  was  that  briefs  would  now  be  showered 
upon  me,  as  they  have  been — as  they  are  being. 
What  I  failed  to  realise  was  that  I  should  have  to  stand 
at  the  bar  of  my  own  conscience,  and  be  tried  by  the 
inexorable  judge  whose  sentences  are  without  mercy. 
That  came  to  pass  quickly,  and  I  was  condemned,  and 
on  appeal  you  confirmed  the  judgment." 

"  I  ?     Oh,  Mr.  Derwent  !  " 

"  During  the  course  of  the  trial   I   became  con- 


THE  CYNIC'S  RENUNCIATION  209 
vinced,  or  at  any  rate  I  had  grave  reasons  for  suspecting 
that  my  client  was  a  scoundrel,  and  had  no  right  to 
a  penny  of  the  money.  The  conviction  came  in  part 
from  what  was  revealed  to  me  in  conversation  with 
him,  and  in  part  from  what  came  out  in  evidence,  but 
at  the  moment  I  did  not  care.  I  was  paid  to  win  my 
case,  not  to  secure  justice.  That  was  for  the  judge  and 
jury.  There  was  more  than  that,  however.  It  was 
not  the  lust  of  gain,  but  the  lust  of  glory  that  obsessed 
me.  I,  Philip  Derwent,  was  going  to  defeat  Ritson 
and  Friend  at  whatever  cost. 

"  But,  Miss  Holden,  I  have  inherited  certain  qualities 
which  are  likely  to  put  awkward  obstacles  in  the  path 
of  ambition.  My  father  was  a  good  man.  He  was 
scrupulously,  fastidiously  honest.  He  believed  that 
the  principles  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  could  and 
should  be  practised  in  everyday  life.  Consequently 
he  never  made  much  money,  and  was  terribly  disap- 
pointed when  his  only  son  adopted  the  law  as  a  pro- 
fession. Some — not  all,  but  some — of  his  qualities 
are  in  my  blood  ;  and  the  voice  of  conscience  is  always 
telling  me  that  the  father  was  a  better  man  than  the 
son,  and  that,  unless  I  am  careful,  I  shall  sell  my  life 
for  power  and  possessions  ;  and  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  be  careful. 

"  Well,  I  have  made  inquiries — carefully  and  without 
hurry — and  I  now  know  for  a  fact  that  Mainwaring 
had  every  right  to  that  money,  and  that  Lessingham 
is  a  fraud,  so  that  my  course  is  clear.  I  have  seen 
Lessingham,  and  he  laughs  in  my  face.  '  You  knew 


210  WINDYRIDGE 

it  at  the  time,  old  man  !  '  he  said  ;  '  and  a  jolly  good 
thing  you've  made  out  of  it.'  There  was  no  chance 
of  putting  things  right  from  that  quarter." 

"  But,  Mr.  Derwent,"  I  interrupted,  "  surely  in 
your  profession  this  is  an  everyday  occurrence.  Both 
sides  cannot  be  right,  and  both  need  legal  assistance." 

"True,"  he  replied,  "and  you  must  quite  under- 
stand my  attitude.  I  am  not  judging  any  of  my 
brethren  :  to  their  own  master  they  stand  or  fall. 
But  for  myself,  I  am  not  going  to  support  any  case,  in 
the  future,  which  I  am  not  convinced  is  a  just  one. 
If,  after  accepting  a  brief,  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  I  am  espousing  an  unjust  cause  I  will  throw  it 
up  at  whatever  sacrifice." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  mean  great  sacrifice, "  I  murmured. 

"  Would  you  recommend  me  not  to  do  it  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  You  must  obey  your  Inner  Self,  or  suffer  torment," 
I  replied. 

"  I  must,  and  I  will,"  he  said  firmly.  "  Now  listen 
to  me.  My  father  was  not,  as  I  have  said,  a  wealthy 
man,  and  on  his  death  I  inherited  little  beyond  good 
principles  and  good  books.  The  waiting  period  for 
financial  success  was  long,  but  latterly  I  have  made 
money.  I  have  £7,000  in  the  bank,  and  a  good  income. 
And  my  judgment  agrees  with  yours  :  I  must  part 
with  my  marbles." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Derwent,"  I  exclaimed;  "think  well 
before  you  take  so  serious  a  step !  What  is  my  hasty 
decision  worth  ?  It  was  given  on  the  spur  of  the 


THE  CYNIC'S  RENUNCIATION  211 
moment :  it  was  the  immature  judgment  of  an  inex- 
perienced woman  !  " 

"  It  was  the  spontaneous  expression  of  pure,  instinc- 
tive truth,"  he  replied.  "  Yet  do  not  feel  any  sense 
of  responsibility.  I  had  already  reached  the  same 
conclusion  :  you  merely  confirmed  it,  and  in  doing 
so  helped  and  strengthened  me — though  the  decision 
set  back  a  hope  that  had  arisen  within  me." 

"  But,  Mr.  Derwent  " — I  was  groping  around  vainly 
for  a  loophole  of  escape — "  this  Mr.  Mainwaring,  is 
he  poor  ?  does  he  need  the  money  ?  will  he  use  it 
well  ?  " 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  he  replied.  "  His 
wealth  or  poverty  cannot  affect  the  question  of  right 
or  wrong.  The  money  is  his  by  right.  /  robbed  him 
of  it  by  forensic  cunning  and  rhetoric,  and  I  will 
repay  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  is  fabulously 
wealthy,  and  £7,000  is  to  him  a  mere  drop  in  an  ocean. 
And  he  spends  his  money  on  horses  and  dissipation. 
He  is  a  bigger  scoundrel  than  Lessingham,  and  that 
is  saying  much." 

"  But  what  a  shame,  Mr.  Derwent  !  It  does  not 
seem  right." 

"  It  can  never  be  wrong  to  do  right.  Besides,  I 
misled  you  at  the  outset  of  our  conversation — misled 
you  purposely.  I  could  not  change  my  mind  now  if  I 
wished  to  do  so,  for  I  posted  Mainwaring  a  cheque 
for  the  full  amount  this  morning." 

I  felt  ready  to  cry,  but  there  was  as  much  joy  as 
sorrow  in  my  breast.  I  believe  I  smiled,  and  I  hel4 


212  WINDYRIDGE 

out  my  hand,  which  he  grasped  and  retained  a 
moment. 

At  that  instant  a  telegraph  boy  pushed  open  the 
gate  and  advanced  towards  me. 

"Miss  Holden  ?  "  he  inquired. 

I  took  the  envelope  and  tore  it  open.  It  contained 
only  a  brief  message  : 

"  Zermatt.     July  22nd. 
"  Please  come  soon  as  possible.     See  Derwent. 

"  EVANS.    Hotel  Victoria." 

I  burst  into  tears,  and  went  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER     XXI 

AT   ZERMATT 

I  CANNOT  truthfully  say  that  sad  thoughts  were 
uppermost  during  the  hours  that  followed. 
After  all,  it  was  my  first  trip  to  the  Continent, 
and  although  I  am  thirty-six  years  old,  and  might  be 
expected  to  have  got  over  mere  juvenile  excitements, 
I  confess  to  a  feeling  of  cheerful  anticipation.  Of 
course  the  squire  was  always  in  the  background  of 
my  thoughts,  but  I  had  no  sense  of  apprehension  such 
as  sometimes  oppresses  one  before  an  approaching 
calamity. 

And  it  was  so  nice  to  have  everything  arranged  for 
me,  and  to  find  myself  in  possession  of  time-tables 
and  railway-coupons  and  a  clear  itinerary  of  the 
journey  without  the  slightest  effort  or  inconvenience 
on  my  part.  Undoubtedly  man  has  his  uses,  if  he  is  a 
clear-headed,  kind-hearted  fellow  like  the  Cynic. 

When  the  whistle  sounded  and  the  boat  express 
glided  out  of  Charing  Cross  I  waved  my  handkerchief 
from  the  window  as  long  as  I  could  see  him,  and  then 
settled  down  into  the  luxurious  cushions  and  gave 
myself  up  to  reflection.  How  nice  and  brotherly  he 
had  been  all  the  way  to  town,  and  since !  I  do  not 
wonder  that  Rose  enjoyed  the  journey.  Rose  !  I 
might  have  let  her  know  that  I  was  leaving  by  the 


214  WINDYRIDGE 

morning  train,  but  then  she  would  have  had  to  ask 
for  an  hour  off ;  and  when  she  has  just  been  away  for 
ten  days  her  chief  might  not  have  liked  it.  Besides, 
the  Cynic  had  such  a  lot  of  minute  instructions  and 
emphatic  warnings  to  which  I  was  forced  to  listen 
attentively. 

Then  there  was  Mother  Hubbard,  who  had  been 
set  upon  accompanying  me  on  the  ground  that  I  ought 
not  to  travel  alone  and  unchaperoned  ;  but  the  Cynic 
agreed  with  me  that  at  my  age  chaperonage  is  un- 
necessary. I  am  not  the  sort  that  needs  protection ; 
and  the  little  motherkin  would  merely  have  added  to 
my  anxieties. 

No,  though  there  was  a  sick  and  perhaps  dying  man 
at  the  other  end,  and  though  sorrow  might  soon 
compass  me  about,  I  determined  to  enjoy  the  present 
moment,  and  I  did.  I  enjoyed  the  breeze  upon  the 
Channel,  the  glimpses  of  peasant  life  in  France  as 
the  train  rushed  through  the  flat  and  rather  tame 
country,  the  dinner  in  the  Northern  railway  station 
at  Paris,  and  the  novel  experience  of  the  tiny  bed 
which  was  reserved  for  my  use  on  the  night  journey. 
t  was  travelling  in  luxury,  of  course,  and  am  never 
likely  to  repeat  the  experience. 

But  my  chief  enjoyment  was  one  which  could  be 
shared  by  any  who  had  eyes  to  see,  though  they  were 
sitting  upright  on  the  bare  and  narrow  boards  of  the 
miserable  third-class  compartments  which  I  caught 
sight  of  occasionally  in  the  stations  when  morning 
came. 


AT   ZERMATT  215 

The  glory  of  the  dawn  !  of  the  sun  rising  behind 
the  mountains,  when  a  pink  flush  spread  over  the 
sky,  dissolving  quickly  into  rose  and  amber  and  azure, 
delicately  pencilled  in  diverging  rays  which  spread 
like  a  great  fan  to  the  zenith  !  The  crags  of  a  great 
hill  caught  the  glow,  and  the  mountain  burned  with 
fire.  Below,  the  grass  was  gold  and  emerald  ;  there 
were  fruit-laden  trees  in  the  foreground,  and  in  the 
distance,  away  beyond  the  belt  of  low-lying  mist  and 
the  vague  neutral  tints  which  concealed  their  bases, 
were  the  snow  mountains  !  I  pushed  down  the 
window  and  gorged  myself  with  the  heavenly  vision. 

There  was  no  time  to  see  Geneva,  but  the  ride  along 
the  banks  of  the  lake  and  through  the  fertile  Rhone 
valley  was  one  long,  delightful  dream.  Luncheon  was 
provided  at  Visp,  and  then  began  the  journey  on  the 
mountain  railway  which  I  can  never  forget. 

As  the  train  snorted  and  grunted  up  the  steep  incline 
I  rejoiced  to  realise  that  it  could  not  travel  more 
quickly.  Stream,  mountain  and  forest  ;  fertile  valley, 
rushing  waterfall  and  lofty  precipice — all  contributed 
to  the  charm  of  the  experience.  But  the  rush  of  the 
Visp,  as  it  poured  down  the  narrow  gorge,  and  boiled 
and  fretted  in  turbulent  cascades  which  hurled  their 
spray  through  the  windows  of  the  passing  train  is 
the  one  outstanding  remembrance.  It  was  glorious  ! 
Then  the  Matterhorn  came  in  sight  for  a.  moment,  and 
just  afterwards  the  toy  train  drew  up  at  the  toy  plat- 
form in  Zermatt. 

The  concierge  of  the  Hotel  Victoria  took  my  bag 


216  WINDYRIDGE 

and  pointed  me  out  to  a  diminutive  young  lady  who 
was  standing  near.  She  at  once  came  forward  and  held 
out  her  hand,  whilst  a  winning  smile  spread  over  her 
pleasant  face. 

"  You  are  Miss  Holden,  are  you  not  ?  I  have  stepped 
across  to  meet  you,  so  that  you  might  not  feel  so 
strange  on  your  arrival.  My  husband  is  a  doctor — 
Dr.  Grey — and  he  has  taken  an  interest  in  Mr.  Evans, 
and  continues  to  do  so  even  though  I  have  fallen  in 
love  with  the  old  gentleman." 

I  liked  the  girl  straight  away.  She  is  quite  young — 
only  just  twenty-three,  as  she  told  me  frankly,  and 
ever  such  a  little  creature,  though  she  carries  herself 
with  the  dignity  of  a  duchess — in  fact,  with  much  more 
dignity  than  some  duchesses  I  have  seen. 

"  Now  that  is  '  real  good  '  of  you,  as  the  Americans 
whose  company  I  have  just  left  would  say,"  I  replied  ; 
"  and  I  think  it  was  very  nice  of  you  to  think  of  it. 
Tell  me  first,  please,  if  Mr.  Evans  is  worse." 

"  I  really  cannot  say  with  certainty,"  she  replied  ; 
"  the  Zermatt  doctor  thinks  he  is  not  going  to  recover, 
and  my  husband  says  that  he  will  live  for  months. 
Now  my  husband,  dear,  is  a  very  clever  man  indeed, 
though  he  is  only  young  ;  and  although  the  other 
man  looks  very  formidable  and  wears  spectacles  I 
don't  believe  he  is  as  clever  as  Ralph." 

I  smiled.  "  You  have  known  the  one  doctor  longer 
than  the  other,"  I  said. 

"  Not  much,  as  a  doctor,"  she  confided.  "  To  let 
you  into  a  secret  which  nobody  here  has  discovered, 


AT   ZERMATT  217 

Ralph  and  I  are  on  our  honeymoon,  so  that  my  ex- 
perience of  his  medical  abilities  is  limited,  but  I  am 
sure  he  is  very  clever.  But  come  !  the  hotel  is  only 
just  across  the  way." 

She  accompanied  me  to  my  room  and  chatted 
incessantly  whilst  I  was  endeavouring  to  remove  the 
grime  and  grit  which  the  continental  engines  deposit 
so  generously  upon  the  traveller  behind  them. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  as  I  emptied  the  water  for  the 
third  time,  and  sponged  my  face  and  neck  preparatory 
to  a  brisk  towelling  ;  "  you  have  emerged  at  last. 
But  you  will  never  be  quite  yourself  until  you  have 
washed  your  hair.  Do  it  to-night,  dear.  I  know  a 
splendid  way  of  tying  your  head  up  in  a  towel  so  that 
you  can  sleep  quite  comfy." 

The  squire's  face  brightened  when  he  saw  me.  He 
was  sitting  near  the  window  in  a  great  easy-chair 
which  was  almost  a  couch,  and  his  hair  was  whiter 
than  when  he  left  England,  and  his  face  was — oh  ! 
so  thin  and  grey  ;  but  what  a  gentleman  he  looked  ! 
He  held  out  both  hands,  but  I  bent  over  and  kissed  him. 
If  it  was  a  bold  thing  to  do  I  don't  mind.  My  Inner 
Self  bade  me  do  it  and  I  obeyed. 
.  He  held  my  face  against  his  for  a  moment,  and 
neither  of  us  spoke.  Then  he  said  : 

"  Look  at  my  view,  Grace,  and  tell  me  if  you  like 
it." 

I  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  looked  through 
the  open  window.  I  saw  before  me  a  scene  of  peaceful 
loveliness — a  valley,  richly  green,  with  here  and  there 


218  WINDYRIDGE 

oblong  patches  of  yellow  framed  in  olive  hedges  :  a 
narrow  valley,  girded  with  mountains  whose  sides 
rise  steeply  to  tremendous  heights,  jagged,  scarped, 
and  streaked  with  snow  :  a  wooded  valley,  too,  where 
sombre  trees  of  fir  and  pine  climb  the  heights  and 
spread  out  into  thickets  which  end  only  with  the  rock. 
Quaint,  brown-timbered  structures,  built  on  piles  and 
with  overhanging  roofs,  sometimes  isolated,  some- 
times in  little  groups,  were  dotted  about  the  landscape. 
A  white  road  wound  down  the  valley,  and  the  yellow 
waters  of  the  Visp  rushed,  torrent-like,  along  the 
bottom,  to  be  lost  to  view  where  the  land  dipped 
abruptly  to  the  left. 

In  the  far  distance  mountains  of  snow  lifted  up  their 
hoary  heads  into  the  luminous  haze  ;  and  light  clouds, 
rivalling  their  whiteness,  gave  the  illusion  of  loftier 
heights  still,  and  led  the  eye  to  the  brilliant  blue  of 
high  heaven. 

The  sun  was  behind  us,  and  banks  of  clouds  mu.^t 
have  intercepted  his  rays  from  time  to  time,  for  the 
play  of  light  and  shade  varied  like  a  kaleidoscope,  and 
the  bare,  stony  flanks  of  the  mountains  in  the  middle 
distance  shone  green  or  grey  or  red  as  the  sun  caught 
them.  A  rude  bridge  crossed  the  stream  away  below, 
and  I  could  just  make  out  some  tourists  in  Tyrolese  caps 
and  with  knapsacks  on  their  backs,  leaning  over  the 
white  rails. 

The  squire  put  his  arm  on  mine,  "  I  will  tell  you 
the  names  of  these  giants  later.  Meanwhile,  tell  me, 
have  I  chosen  well  ?  " 


AT    ZERMATT  219 

"It  is  heavenly,"  I  replied.  "  I  should  be  content 
to  sit  here  for  days." 

"  I  am  content,"  he  said  ;  "  there  is  grander  scenery 
than  this  around  Zermatt — grander  by  far.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  valley  you  will  see  and  you  will  glory 
in  the  towering  masses  of  crag  and  snow  which  the 
Matterhorn  and  Breithorn  present.  You  will  see 
miles  of  glaciers  and  sparkling  waterfalls  and  a 
thousand  wonders  of  God's  providing  ;  but  it  was  too 
cold  and  massive  and  hard  to  suit  the  mood  of  a  dying 
man.  I  wanted  Nature  in  a  kindlier  temper,  so  I  sit 
by  the  window  and  commune  with  her,  and  she  is 
always  friendly." 

There  was  a  stool  in  the  room,  and  I  drew  it  up  and 
sat  at  his  feet  with  one  arm  upon  his  knee,  as  I  used 
to  sit  for  hours  in  the  days  of  old,  before  my  father's 
death  left  me  solitary  ;  and  when  the  squire  placed 
a  caressing  hand  upon  my  shoulder  I  could  have 
thought  that  a  chapter  had  been  re-opened  in  the 
sealed  pages  of  my  life. 

"  Who  is  this  Dr.  Grey  ?  "  I  inquired,  "  whose 
charming  little  wife  met  me  at  the  station,  and  told 
me  you  are  not  going  to  die  for  a  long  time  ? — for 
which  I  love  her." 

He  smiled.  "  Grey  is  an  optimist,  my  dear,  and  a 
downright  good  fellow,  and  he  has  picked  up  a  prize 
in  his  wife.  They  are  on  their  wedding-tour,  as  any- 
one quite  unversed  in  that  lore  can  see  at  a  glance  ; 
and  they  ought  to  have  left  Zermatt  a  week  ago  or 
more,  but  they  have  cheerfully  stayed  on  to  minister 


220  WINDYRIDGE 

to  the  physical  and  mental  necessities  of  an  old  man 
and  a  stranger.  Not  many  would  have  done  it,  for 
they  are  sacrificing  one  of  the  most  attractive  pro- 
grammes that  Switzerland  offers,  for  my  sake." 

"  What  a  lot  of  good  people  there  are  in  the  world," 
I  said.  "  I  am  going  to  like  Dr.  Grey  as  much  as  I 
like  his  wife.  He  is  a  big,  strong,  well-developed  man, 
of  course  ?  " 

"  Why  '  of  course  ?  '  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Husbands  of  tiny  wives  invariably  are  ;  the 
infinitely  small  seems  to  have  a  remarkable  affinity 
for  the  infinitely  great." 

"  Well,  he  is  certainly  a  strapping  fellow,  and  he  is 
devoted  to  the  wee  woman  he  has  made  his  wife.  I 
believe,  too,  he  will  get  on  in  his  profession." 

"  His  wife  says  he  is  a  very  clever  man  indeed,"  I 
remarked. 

"  Does  she  ?  An  unbiassed  opinion  of  that  kind 
is  valuable.  All  the  same,  he  has  done  me  good,  not 
so  much  with  physic — for  I  take  the  Zermatt  man's 
concoctions — as  with  his  cheery  outlook.  I  believe  he 
thinks  I  am  a  trickster." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  believe,  sir  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  ;  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  believe  you  are  going  to  get  better,  and  I  shall 
take  you  back  to  Windyridge  and  the  moors." 

He  sighed  then,  and  laid  a  hand  fondly  upon  mine. 
"  Grace,  my  child,  I  will  say  now  what  it  may  be  more 
difficult  to  say  later.  You  have  caught  me  in  a  good 
hour,  and  my  weary  spirits  have  been  refreshed  by  the 


AT   ZERMATT  221 

sight  of  your  face  and  the  sound  of  your  voice  ;  but 
you  must  be  prepared  for  darker  experiences.  Some- 
times I  suffer  ;  often  I  am  terribly  weak  and  depressed. 
Gottlieb,  I  know,  does  not  expect  me  to  recover,  and 
my  Inner  Self  (that  is  your  expression,  child,  and  I 
often  think  of  it)  tells  me  he  is  right.  You  are  too 
sensible  to  be  unduly  distressed  before  the  time  comes, 
and  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  have  planned,  and  to 
tell  you  quite  calmly  and  without  emotion.  Death 
to  me  is  only  a  curtain  between  one  room  and  the  next, 
so  that  it  does  not  disturb  me  to  explain  to  you  what 
I  wish  to  be  done  when  it  is  raised  for  me  to  pass 
through. 

"  Midway  in  the  village  you  will  find  some  gardens 
opposite  the  Mont  Cervin  Hotel.  Pass  through  them 
and  you  will  reach  a  little  English  church,  surrounded 
by  a  tiny  graveyard.  There  lie  the  bones  of  men  who 
have  been  killed  on  the  mountains,  and  of  others  who 
have  found  death  instead  of  life  in  these  health-giving 
heights.  There  is  one  sunny  spot  where  I  want  my 
body  to  rest,  and  the  chaplain  knows  it.  You  can 
bear  to  hear  me  speak  of  these  things,  can  you  ?  " 

Yes,  I  could  bear  it.  He  spoke  so  naturally  and  with 
such  ease  that  I  hardly  realised  what  it  meant  :  it  was 
unreal,  far-off,  fallacious. 

"  At  first,"  he  continued,  "  the  idea  was  repugnant. 
I  longed  to  be  laid  side  by  side  with  my  wife  in  the 
homeland,  but  that  feeling  passed.  It  was  nothing 
more  than  sentiment,  though  it  was  a  sentiment  that 
nearly  took  me  home,  in  spite  of  the  doctors.  But 


222  WINDYRIDGE 

the  more  I  have  thought  of  it  the  more  childish  it  has 
seemed.  I  am  conscious  of  her  presence  here,  always. 
Metaphysicians  would  explain  that  easily  enough, 
no  doubt,  but  to  me  it  is  an  experience,  and  what  can 
one  want  more  ?  Why,  then,  should  I  run  away  to 
Windyridge  and  Fawkshill  in  order  to  find  her,  or 
be  carried  there  for  that  purpose  after  death  ?  No, 
no.  Heaven  is  about  me  here,  and  our  spirits  will 
meet  at  once  when  the  silver  thread  is  loosed  which 
binds  me  to  earth.  Am  I  right,  Grace  ?  " 

I  was  crying  a  little  now,  but  I  could  not  contradict 
him. 

"  Gottlieb  shakes  his  head,  but  Grey  says  I  may 
last  for  months.  Perhaps  he  is  right,  but  I  have  no 
desire  to  live.  Why  should  I  ?  And  where  could 
I  end  my  days  more  pleasantly  than  amidst  these 
masterpieces  of  the  great  Architect  ?  " 

Mrs.  Grey  came  for  me  when  the  dinner  bell  sounded, 
and  we  went  down  together.  It  has  been  arranged 
that  I  am  to  lunch  with  the  squire  in  his  own  room, 
but  to  have  dinner  with  the  rest  at  a  little  table  which 
I  share  with  the  Greys. 

The  doctor  is  just  a  great  bouncing  boy,  with  merry 
eyes  and  thick,  brown  hair.  He  is  on  good  terms  with 
everybody — guests  of  high  degree  and  low,  waiters 
porters,  chambermaids — all  the  cosmopolitan  crowd. 
He  adores  his  little  wife,  and  it  is  funny  to  see  so  big 
a  man  worshipping  at  so  small  a  shrine. 

I  expressed  my  gratitude  to  them  both  as  we  sat  at 
dinner,  andhe  laughed — such  a  hearty,  boisterous  laugh. 


AT   ZERMATT  223 

"  It's  my  wife.  Dot  wouldn't  hear  of  leaving,  and 
you  cannot  get  a  separation  order  in  these  wilds.  She 
has  spent  so  much  time  with  the  old  gentleman  that 
I  have  been  madly  jealous  for  hours  at  a  stretch." 

"  Don't  be  untruthful,  Ralph,"  said  Mrs.  Grey. 
"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  you  have  spoiled  our 
honeymoon  with  the  simple  and  sordid  motive  of 
gaining  professional  experience.  Besides,  you  are 
nicest  when  you  are  jealous." 

"  Am  I,  by  Jove  !  "  he  laughed.  "  Then  '  niceness  ' 
will  become  habitual  with  me,  for  the  way  all  the  men 
look  at  you  fans  the  flame  of  my  jealousy.  But  this 
is  poor  stuff  for  Miss  Holden,  and  I  want  to  talk 
seriously  to  her." 

"  What  is  your  candid  opinion  of  Mr.  Evans  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  He  is  marked  to  fall,  Miss  Holden,  but  if  he  can  be 
persuaded  to  make  the  effort  to  live  he  need  not  fall 
for  months,  perhaps  even  for  years.  The  fact  is,  he 
has  become  indifferent  to  life,  and  that  is  against  him." 

"  What  is  really  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

' '  Now,  there  you  corner  me, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  He  has  a 
weak  heart,  bronchial  trouble,  some  diabetic  tendencies 
and  disordered  nerves  ;  but  what  is  really  the  matter 
with  him  I  have  not  discovered.  Can  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  thought  all  these  things  were  matter 
enough,"  I  answered;  "  but  what  really  ails  him,  I 
believe,  is  what  is  commonly  termed  a  '  broken  heart.' 
He  is  always  mourning  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  always 
dwelling  upon  reunion." 


224  WINDYRIDGE 

"  He  never  told  me  that,"  replied  the  doctor  thought- 
fully ;  "  I  am  glad  to  know  it." 

"  Why  should  he  remain  abroad  all  this  time  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Because  he  shouldn't  !  "  he  replied.  "  In  my 
judgment  he  has  been  ill  advised  ;  but  it  is  largely  his 
own  fault,  too.  I  think  he  did  well  to  leave  England 
for  the  winter,  but  he  ought  to  have  gone  home  when 
the  warm  weather  came.  His  medical  advisers  have 
always  prescribed  change  of  scene  :  told  him  to  go 
anywhere  he  liked,  and  '  buck  up  '  a  bit,  and  he  has 
gone.  France,  Spain,  Egypt,  Italy,  and  now  Zermatt. 
And  the  old  chap  is  dying  of  loneliness.  Gottlieb 
shakes  his  mournful  old  head,  and  goes  out  to  arrange 
with  the  English  chaplain  where  to  bury  him.  I'd 
bury  them  both  !  If  you  take  my  advice  you'll  pet 
him  and  make  him  think  the  world  is  a  nice  place  to 
live  in,  and  then  we'll  take  him  home,  and  let  old 
Gottlieb  find  another  tenant  for  his  grave.  If  you  will 
second  me  we'll  have  him  out  of  this  hole  in  a  week's 
time." 

I  felt  so  cheered,  and  I  will  certainly  follow  his  lead. 
I  wrote  a  long,  explanatory  letter  to  the  Cynic,  an 
apologetic  one  to  Rose,  and  a  picture  postcard,  pro- 
mising a  longer  communication,  to  Mother  Hubbard, 
and  then  turned  in  and  slept  like  a  top. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    HEATHER    PULLS 

THE  sensation  of  dazzling  light  and  the  sound 
of  tinkling  silvery  bells  woke  me  early,  and 
I  jumped  up  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
The  bells  belonged  to  a  herd  of  goats  which  were 
being  driven  slowly  to  pasture.  Stalwart  guides,  with 
stout  alpenstocks  in  their  hands,  and  apparently  heavy 
cloth  bags  upon  their  backs,  were  standing  near  the 
hotel  and  on  the  station  platform.  Tourists  of  both 
sexes  were  getting  ready  to  accompany  the  guides, 
and  there  was  much  loud  questioning  and  emphatic 
gesticulation  on  both  sides.  A  few  mules  stood  near, 
presumably  for  the  use  of  the  ladies.  It  was  all  too 
provocative,  and  I  flung  myself  into  my  clothes  and 
went  out. 

If  I  were  writing  a  guide  book  I  could  wax  eloquent, 
I  believe,  in  my  descriptions  of  Zermatt ;  but  I  am  not, 
and  I  therefore  refrain. 

The  squire  was  delighted  with  my  enthusiasm,  and 
insisted  upon  my  "  doing "  the  place  thoroughly. 
He  did  not  rise  until  noon,  so  that  my  mornings  were 
always  free,  and  the  Greys  took  me  all  the  shorter 
excursions.  One  day  we  had  quite  a  long  trip  to  the 
top  of  the  Corner  Grat,  whence  one  gets  an  unrivalled 
view  of  snow  peaks  and  glaciers  ;  and  from  thence  we 


226  WINDYRIDGE 

walked  to  the  Schwarz  See,  where  the  Matterhorn 
towers  in  front  of  you  like  an  absolute  monarch  in 
loneliness  and  grandeur. 

Oh,  those  ravines,  where  the  glacier-fed  streams 
rage  furiously  in  their  rapid  descent  !  Oh,  those 
gorges,  in  whose  depths  the  pent-up  waters  leap  onward 
between  high  walls  of  rock  to  which  the  precarious 
gangway  clings  where  you  stand  in  momentary  fear  of 
disaster  !  Oh,  those  woods,  with  the  steep  and  stony 
footpaths,  and  the  sudden  revelation  of  unsuspected 
objects  :  of  kine  munching  the  green  herbage ;  of 
the  women  who  tend  them,  working  industriously 
with  wool  and  needle  ;  of  wooden  chalets  with  stone- 
protected  roofs  ;  of  trickling  cascades  and  roaring 
waterfalls  ! 

Oh,  those  pastures,  green  as  emerald,  soft  as  velvet, 
where  one  might  lie  as  on  a  couch  of  down  and  feast 
the  eye  on  mountain  and  vale  and  sky,  and  never 
tire  !  Oh,  those  sunsets,  and  particularly  the  one 
which  struck  my  imagination  most,  when  the  sky  was 
not  crimson,  but  topaz-tinted,  and  the  huge  cloud  which 
hung  suspended  from  the  neck  of  the  Matterhorn  was 
changed  in  a  second  into  beaten  gold,  as  though 
touched  by  the  rod  of  the  alchemist ;  when  the  Breit- 
horn  flushed  deep  for  a  moment  at  the  sun's  caress, 
and  the  land  lay  flooded  in  a  translucent  yellow  haze 
that  spread  like  a  vapour  over  the  works  of  God  and 
man,  and  turned  mere  stones  and  mortar  into  the 
fairy  palaces  of  Eastern  fable  ! 

It  seems  now  like  a  wonderful  dream,  but,  thank 


THE    HEATHER   PULLS         227 

God  !  it  is  something  much  less  transient.  For  a 
memory  is  infinitely  better  than  a  dream  :  the  memory 
of  an  experience  such  as  this  is  a  continual  feast, 
whereas  a  dream  too  often  excites  hopes  that  may  never 
be  realised,  and  presents  visions  of  delight  which  are 
as  elusive  as  the  grapes  of  Tantalus. 

I  stored  up  every  detail  for  the  squire's  benefit.  I 
cultivated  my  powers  of  observation  more  for  his  sake 
than  my  own,  and  reaped  a  double  reward.  All  I 
saw  is  impressed  still  upon  my  brain  with  photographic 
sharpness,  and  it  will  be  a  long,  long  time  before  the 
image  becomes  faded  or  blurred.  But  what  was  better 
still,  I  saw  the  squire's  eyes  brighten  and  the  "yonderly" 
look  depart,  as  he  came  back  to  earth  evening  by  even- 
ing and  followed  the  story  of  my  adventures. 

I  believe  he  would  have  been  content  to  stay  on 
indefinitely  and  give  me  as  good  a  time  as  my  heart 
could  have  desired,  but  that  would  not  have  been  right. 
I  had  not  gone  out  to  enjoy  a  frolic,  and  at  times  I 
felt  almost  ashamed  of  myself  for  enjoying  life  so  much. 
"  Grace  Holden,"  I  said,  "  you  are  a  very  considerable 
fraud.  Your  special  role  just  now  is  supposed  to  be 
that  of  the  ministering  angel,  whereas  you  are  flinging 
away  your  own  time  and  somebody  else's  money  like 
an  irresponsible  tripper." 

Dr.  Grey  laughed  when  I  told  him  that  I  had  qualms 
of  conscience  on  this  score. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said;  "Providence  has  her  own 
notions  of  how  angels  can  best  minister,  and  I  fancy 
you  are  carrying  out  her  scheme  pretty  successfully. 


228  WINDYRIDGE 

It's  three  days  since  the  old  gentleman  spoke  a  word 
about  dying,  and  I'm  certain  he  is  not  nearly  as  anxious 
to  be  gone  as  he  was  before  you  came.  But  cannot 
you  tempt  him  back  to  England  by  any  means  ?  My 
wife  and  I  cannot  remain  here  much  longer,  and  I 
would  like  to  help  you  to  take  him  home." 

I  did  my  best,  but  I  made  little  headway.  The 
squire  seemed  to  have  lost  all  desire  for  home,  and  had 
quite  made  up  his  mind  that  his  body  would  soon  be 
laid  to  rest  amid  the  eternal  snows.  He  was  con- 
stantly anticipating  some  further  attack  which  would 
cut  him  down  without  warning,  and  Gottlieb  seemed 
to  find  a  mournful  satisfaction  in  encouraging  these 
forebodings,  less  perhaps  by  what  he  said  than  by  what 
he  left  unsaid. 

A  tinge  of  annoyance  began  to  mix  with  Dr.  Grey's 
laugh,  and  he  spoke  to  the  squire  with  a  touch  of 
asperity.  He  had  subjected  him  again  to  a  thorough 
examination,  and  on  its  conclusion  he  broke  out : 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Evans,  I  stake  my  professional 
reputation  upon  my  verdict  that  you  are  not  a  dying 
man  physically.  If  you  die  it's  your  own  fault. 
There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  start  for  home 
to-morrow." 

The  squire  took  his  hand  and  held  it.  "  Grey,"  he 
said,  "  has  science  taught  you  that  man  has  an  inward 
voice  that  sometimes  speaks  more  authoritatively 
and  convincingly  than  doctor  or  parson,  and  that 
insists  upon  its  dicta  ?  Miss  Holden  knows  it  and 
calls  it  her  '  Inner  Self.'  " 


THE    HEATHER   PULLS         229 

"  No,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  science  has  taught  me 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  no  psychologist,  for  my 
business  is  with  the  body  rather  than  the  soul.  But 
science  has  taught  me  what  the  body  is  and  is  not  able 
to  accomplish,  and  whatever  your  '  Inner  Self  '  may 
say  I  am  convinced  that  your  body  is  quite  competent 
to  take  that  perverse  autocrat  home  if  he  will  let  it. 
But  it  cannot  otherwise." 

"  Intuition  is  sometimes  more  powerful  than  logic," 
said  the  squire.  "  Grey,  you  are  a  good  fellow  and  I 
owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude,  but  don't  inconvenience 
yourself  on  my  account.  Go  home,  if  you  must,  and 
believe  me,  I  am  sincerely  thankful  for  all  your  good- 
ness and  attention." 

The  doctor  tackled  me  again  at  dinner.  "  I'm 
not  going  home,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  not  going  to 
let  him  die  without  a  struggle.  But  you'll  have 
to  make  that  Inner  Self  of  his  listen  to  reason. 
Now  put  your  thinking  cap  on,  and  good  luck  to 
you." 

"  I  cannot  understand  him,"  I  replied  ;  "he  was 
always  inclined  to  melancholy,  but  he  was  not  morbid 
and  listless  as  he  now  shows  himself.  He  seems  some- 
times pitiably  weak  and  childish,  whereas  ordinarily 
he  is  full  of  shrewd  common  sense." 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  will  be 
again.  His  Inner  Self  is  sick  just  now,  consequent 
upon  his  long  seclusion  from  friends  and  home  associa- 
tions. It  needs  to  be  roused.  If  you  can  once  make 
him  want  to  go  home,  his  body  will  take  him  there 


230  WINDYRIDGE 

hard  enough.     I  can't  do  that  :    you  must.     Can't 

you  tell  him  you  have  got  to  go  back  ?  " 

I  had  thought  of  that.  I  had  left  my  work  at  the 
busiest  season  of  the  year,  and,  after  all,  it  was  my 
living.  And  there  was  Mother  Hubbard,  who  had 
learned  to  lean  upon  me,  and  had  yielded  me  so  willingly 
to  the  more  pressing  duty.  I  owed  something  to  her. 
As  I  thought  upon  these  things  a  feeling  of  home- 
sickness stole  over  me,  and  I  went  in  and  sat  at  the 
squire's  feet. 

It  was  falling  dusk,  and  the  cool  breath  of  evening 
fanned  our  cheeks  as  we  sat  by  the  open  window  and 
watched  the  lights  twinkling  in  the  celestial  dome, 
and  the  mountains  growing  more  black  and  mysterious 
with  the  advancing  night. 

"  It  is  very  lovely,"  murmured  the  squire. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  it  is.  But  close  your  eyes  and  I 
will  paint  you  a  more  attractive  picture  than  this. 
You  will  not  interrupt  me,  will  you  ?  and  I  will  try 
to  tell  you  what  I  saw  not  long  ago,  and  what  I  am 
aching  to  see  again." 

"No,  my  child,"  he  replied,  pressing  my  hand  fondly. 
"  I  will  be  quite  still  and  you  shall  paint  your  picture 
on  my  brain." 

I  hesitated  a  moment,  and  I  think  a  wordless,  form- 
less prayer  for  help  ascended  to  heaven.  I  endeavoured 
to  visualise  the  scene  in  its  fairest  colours,  and  trembled 
lest  my  effort  should  be  in  vain.  I  closed  my  own 
eyes,  too,  for  I  feared  distraction.  Then  I  began  : 

"  I  am  standing  in  a  country  lane,  with  ragged 


THE  HEATHER  PULLS  231 
hedges  on  either  hand.  The  hedges  are  brightly 
green,  for  they  have  been  newly  washed  with  the  warm 
rain  of  summer,  and  they  sparkle  like  gems  in  the 
bright  sunshine  of  a  glorious  morning.  There  is  a 
bank  of  grass,  rank,  luxurious  grass,  on  one  side  of 
the  roadway,  and  I  clamber  up  to  secure  a  wider  view 
of  the  bounties  nature  has  provided. 

"  There  is  a  merry,  frolicsome  breeze — a  rude  one, 
in  truth,  for  it  winds  my  skirt  about  my  limbs  and  blows 
my  hair  over  my  ears  and  eyes  ;  and  yet  I  love  it, 
for  it  means  no  harm,  and  its  crisp  touch  braces  my 
body  and  gives  me  the  taste  of  life. 

"  From  my  elevated  standpoint  I  see  the  distant 
horizon,  miles  and  miles  away.  Far  off  upon  my  right 
the  clouds  lie  in  long  grey  strata,  like  closely-piled 
packs  of  wool,  but  on  my  left  the  remoter  sky  is  washed 
in  silver,  with  here  and  there  a  rent,  revealing  wonder- 
fully delicate  tints  of  blue. 

"  Overhead  the  wool-packs  have  been  burst  open 
by  the  wind  which  is  tearing  them  apart  and  scattering 
their  contents  over  the  deep  blue  zenith.  They  are 
dazzlingly  white,  whether  heaped  together  in  massive 
bulk,  or  drawn  out — as  so  many  of  them  are — into 
transparent  fluff  which  drifts  in  the  rapid  air  current 
like  down  of  thistles. 

"  The  morning  is  cold  and  the  air  is  keen,  so  that  the 
sky-line  is  sharply  denned  and  hints  a  threat  of  rain. 
But  who  cares  about  the  evil  of  the  hour  after  next 
when  there  are  so  many  glories  to  delight  the  present 
sense  ?  See,  the  sky-line  of  which  I  speak  is  dusky 


232  WINDYRIDGE 

purple  and  reddish-brown,  but  broad,  flat  washes  of 
verdigris  stretch  up  to  it,  with  here  and  there  a  yellow 
patch  betokening  fields  of  grain,  and  in  the  foreground 
meadows  and  pastures  of  brighter  hue. 

"  In  front  of  me  is  a  clump  of  trees — fine,  tall  trees 
they  are,  with  shining  grey  boles — standing  erect  and 
strong  in  spite  of  the  fury  of  the  gales.  Sycamore 
and  beech  and  elm,  majestic,  beautiful.  I  hear  the 
cawing  of  the  rooks  from  out  the  dark  shadows. 

"  I  climb  over  the  wall  a  little  farther  on  and  walk 
fifty  paces  forward.  I  now  see  a  grey  Hall,  a  dear  old 
place,  stone-roofed  and  low,  with  tiny  old- wo  rid  window- 
panes  around  which  the  dark-hued  ivy  clings  tenaciously. 
There  are  brightly  coloured  flower-beds  in  front,  and  a 
green  lawn  to  one  side,  and  a  cluster  of  beeches  stands 
sentinel  before  the  closed  door.  For  the  door,  alas  ! 
is  closed,  and  as  I  look  a  thick  thundercloud  hangs 
over  the  house,  and  I  turn  away  depressed  and  seek 
the  sunshine  on  the  other  side. 

"  And  now  it  is  waste  land  upon  which  my  delighted 
eyes  rest,  and  the  west  wind  brings  to  my  nostrils 
the  scent  of  the  moors.  Waste  land  !  Who  shall  dare 
to  call  that  russet-coloured  hillside  with  the  streaks 
of  green  upon  it,  waste  ?  That  stretch  of  country, 
bracken-covered,  ending  in  the  long  expanse  of  heath 
which  is  now  violet-purple  in  tint,  but  will  soon  be 
glowing  and  aflame  when  the  heather  bursts  its  bonds — 
can  that  be  waste  ?  Surely  not  1 

"  I  see  tiny  cottages  from  whose  chimneys  the  blue 
smoke  is  being  twisted  into  fantastic  forms  by  the 


THE  HEATHER  PULLS  233 
wind's  vagaries,  and  gardens  gay  with  bloom,  and  a 
green-bordered  street,  and  through  an  open  door  the 
dancing  flame  on  a  homely  hearth.  It  is  all  very 
lovely  and  peaceful,  and  when  I  turn  for  a  last  look  at 
the  old  Hall  where  the  door  is  closed,  lo  !  the  thunder- 
cloud has  gone,  and  the  sky  is  blue  over  the  smoke- 
less stacks,  and  hope  arises  within  my  breast,  and  I 
go  on  my  way  with  joy  and  peace  in  my  heart.  That 
is  my  picture  !  " 

I  stopped  and  opened  my  eyes.  A  tear  was  stealing 
down  the  squire's  face,  and  the  grasp  on  my  hand  had 
tightened. 

"  Have  you  finished,  Grace  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  whispered. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  home,"  he  said.  "  I 
believe  I  could  manage  it,  after  all." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER 

WE  left  Zermatt  on  the  following  day.  I 
must  say  that  I  entered  the  squire's  room 
with  some  trepidation,  but  it  was  quite 
unnecessary.  He  smiled  as  I  bent  over  to  kiss  him, 
and  relieved  my  apprehension  at  once. 

"  It's  all  right,  Grace,"  he  said  ;  "  the  heather  pulls. 
You  know,  don't  you  ?  " 

Dr.  Grey  was  splendid.  Motor  cars  are  of  no  use  in 
Zermatt,  except  to  bring  you  there  or  take  you  away, 
so  the  smell  of  petrol  does  not  often  draw  the  tourist's 
attention  from  the  sublime  to  the — nauseous  ;  but  it 
was  characteristic  of  the  almost  impudent  audacity  of 
the  man  that  he  commandeered  the  only  one  there  was 
at  the  Victoria. 

"  How  have  you  managed  it  ?  "  I  asked,  when  I 
learned  that  we  were  all  to  travel  as  far  as  Lausanne 
in  the  marquis  d'Olsini's  luxurious  automobile. 

"  Oh,  easily  enough,"  he  replied  in  his  hearty  way  ; 
"  the  marquis  is  no  end  of  a  decent  sort,  and  when  I 
explained  matters,  and  pointed  out  that  the  car  was 
rusting  for  want  of  use,  he  placed  it  at  my  disposal 
with  the  grace  and  courtliness  that  distinguish  your 
true  Italian  nobleman." 

It  was  a  veritable  little  palace  on  tyres,  and  we 


PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER    235 

reached  Lausanne  quickly  and  without  inconvenience. 
The  squire  was  not  a  bit  worse  for  the  effort,  but  the 
sight  of  old  Gottlieb  turning  away  from  the  door 
when  he  had  bidden  us  good-bye,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  that  said  as  plainly  as  any  words  could  have 
done  that  he  washed  his  hands  of  all  responsibility 
and  was  disgusted  at  the  capriciousness  of  the  mad 
English,  afforded  me  much  delight  and  remains  with 
me  still. 

It  took  us  four  days  to  reach  Folkestone,  and  we 
stayed  there  a  couple  of  nights  before  we  went  on  to 
London.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Grey  remained  with  us  until 
we  reached  the  St.  Pancras  hotel,  where  the  Cynic  was 
waiting  to  receive  us.  The  squire  will  see  a  good  deal 
of  the  Greys,  as  the  doctor  is  a  Manchester  man  and 
can  easily  run  over.  The  Cynic  took  to  them  at  once, 
and  Mrs.  Grey,  or  "  Dot  "  as  I  have  learned  to  call  her, 
confided  to  me  that  my  friend  was  a  very  nice  fellow 
of  whom  she  would  be  desperately  afraid.  Fancy  any 
woman  being  afraid  of  the  Cynic  ! 

Mr.  Derwent  is,  in  his  way,  quite  as  good  an  organiser 
as  the  doctor,  though  he  goes  about  his  work  so  quietly 
that  you  hardly  realise  it.  Instead  of  our  having  to 
change  at  Airlee  he  had  arranged  for  a  saloon  to  be 
attached  to  the  Scotch  express,  so  that  we  travelled 
with  the  utmost  possible  comfort.  The  squire  was 
by  this  time  so  accustomed  to  travelling,  and  had 
borne  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  so  well,  that  I  should 
not  have  hesitated  to  accompany  him  alone,  but  it 
was  very  pleasant  to  have  the  Cynic's  company  and 


236  WINDYRIDGE 

to  feel  that  he  shared  the  responsibility.  He  seemed 
pleased  to  see  me,  I  thought,  and  congratulated  me 
warmly  on  the  success  of  my  mission. 

"  You  must  thank  Dr.  Grey  for  all  this,"  I  said ;  "  it 
was  his  persistence  that  brought  Mr.  Evans  home." 

"  Nay,  child,"  said  the  squire,  "  you  and  your  word 
pictures  sent  me  home." 

Webster  met  us  at  Fawkshill  with  the  pair  of  bays, 
and  his  eyes  shone  as  he  greeted  the  squire.  It  was 
good  to  observe  the  sympathy  that  exists  between 
the  two  as  they  grasped  hands  at  the  station  gate. 
One  was  master  and  the  other  servant,  but  they  were 
just  old  friends  reunited,  and  neither  of  them  was 
ashamed  of  his  emotion. 

When  we  entered  the  lane  the  squire  closed  his  eyes. 
"  I  will  play  at  being  a  boy  again,  Grace.  Tell  me  when 
we  reach  the  brow  of  the  hill,  so  that  I  may  see  it  all 
at  once." 

I  knew  what  he  meant,  and  none  of  the  three  spoke 
a  word  until  Webster  pulled  up  his  horses  at  my  request. 
It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
warm  August  sun  was  well  on  his  way  to  the  west. 
A  thin  haze  hung  over  the  distant  hills,  but  the  moors 
were  glorious  in  brown  and  purple,  and  there  was  here 
and  there  the  glint  of  gorse. 

"  Now,  sir,"  I  said,  "  look  and  rejoice  !  " 

He  stood  up  in  the  carriage  and  looked  around ; 
and  as  he  looked  he  filled  his  lungs  with  the  sweet 
moorland  air.  Then  he  said,  with  deep  emotion  : 

"  Thank  God  for  this  ! — Drive  on  Webster,  please." 


PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER    237 

I  was  anxious  to  see  the  motherkin,  and  leaving  the 
squire  to  the  companionship  of  Mr.  Derwent  I  hastened 
to  the  cottage.  It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that 
I  did  my  best  to  hasten,  but  so  many  of  the  villagers 
stopped  me  to  offer  their  greetings  and  inquire  the 
news  that  my  progress  was  considerably  retarded. 

When  I  was  nearing  the  cottage  I  met  Farmer  Good- 
enough,  whose  hearty  hand-grasp  I  accepted  cautiously. 
After  the  usual  preliminary  questions  had  been  asked 
and  answered  his  voice  became  rather  grave  as  he  said  : 

"  Miss  'Olden,  I  don't  want  to  worry  ye,  knowing 
'at  you're  an  extra  speshul  hand  at  findin'  trouble, 
but  I  don't  altogether  like  the  looks  o'  Mrs.  Hubbard. 
She's  gone  a  bit  thin  an'  worn,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'. 
Yell  excuse  me  saying  ought,  I  know,  but  '  a  stitch 
in  time  saves  nine/  as  t'  Owd  Book  puts  it." 

I  thanked  him,  and  hurried  home,  feeling  very 
troubled  and  uneasy,  but  when  the  dear  old  lady  came 
tripping  down  to  meet  me  my  fears  retired  into  the 
background.  She  was  so  bright  and  sweet  and 
altogether  dainty,  and  she  looked  so  happy  and  so  well, 
with  the  pink  flush  of  pleasure  on  her  cheeks,  that  I 
concluded  the  worthy  farmer  had  for  once  deceived 
himself. 

"  Yes,  love  !  "  she  exclaimed,  flinging  her  arms  around 
my  neck  as  I  stooped  to  kiss  her  ;  "  but  you  are  so 
brown,  love,  and  you  are  really  handsome.  Do  come 
in  and  have  some  tea." 

She  hovered  about  me  all  the  time  I  was  removing 
my  hat  and  coat,  anxious  to  render  me  service,  and 


238  WINDYRIDGE 

seizing  every  opportunity  of  stroking  my  hands  and 

cheeks. 

"  You  foolish  old  pussy-cat !  "  I  said  at  length,  as  I 
forced  her  into  her  easy-chair  and  placed  the  hot  toast 
before  her.  "  Give  over  petting  and  spoiling  me,  and  tell 
me  all  about  yourself — the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth." 

She  evaded  all  my  questions,  however,  and  insisted 
that  I  should  describe  for  her  every  incident  of  my 
journey. 

When  we  had  cleared  away  the  things  and  drawn 
our  chairs  up  to  the  fire  I  returned  to  the  attack. 
Perhaps  she  was  a  little  thin,  after  all,  and  there  was 
a  tired  look  about  the  eyes  that  I  did  not  like. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  in  my  absence  ?  "  I 
asked ;  "  not  working  yourself  to  death  in  the  vain 
attempt  to  impart  a  brighter  surface  to  everything 
polishable,  eh  ?  " 

"No,  love,  I  have  taken  things  very  easily,  and  have 
just  kept  the  cottages  and  your  studio  tidy.  I  have 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  at  Reuben's,  where  they 
have  been  very  kind  to  me  ;  but  I  have  missed  you 
very  much,  love." 

"  Well,  I  am  back  now,  and  not  likely  to  leave 
you  again  for  a  long  time.  We  must  have  another  full 
day's  jaunt  on  the  moors  and  see  the  heather  in  all 
its  royal  magnificence." 

Her  eyes  brightened,  but  I  noticed  they  fell  again, 
and  there  was  doubt  in  her  voice  as  she  replied  : 

"  Yes,  love.     That  will  be  nice.     I  think  the  heat 


PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER  239 
has  been  very  trying,  and  you  may  find  it  so,  too. 
You  must  take  care  not  to  overtire  yourself." 

Then  I  knew  that  there  was  something  wrong,  and 
was  glad  that  I  had  not  consented  to  live  at  the  Hall. 
It  had  been  a  disappointment  to  the  squire,  but  he 
had  not  pressed  the  point  when  he  saw  that  I  was 
unwilling,  and  I  had,  of  course,  readily  agreed  to  spend 
a  good  deal  of  time  with  him.  I  know  he  would  have 
welcomed  my  old  lady  as  a  permanent  guest  for  my 
sake,  but  she  would  never  have  consented  to  abandon 
her  own  little  Hall  of  Memories,  though  she  would 
have  sought  by  every  cunning  artifice  which  love  could 
devise  to  induce  me  to  leave  her,  and  would  have 
suffered  smilingly.  I  registered  a  mental  vow  that  she 
should  never  know,  if  I  could  keep  the  secret  from  her, 
and  that  I  would  do  all  in  my  power  to  make  her 
declining  days  happy. 

"  Why  are  you  so  weary,  dear  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing,  love,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  just 
the  heat.  I  shall  be  better  when  the  days  are  cooler. 
Indeed,  love,  I  am  feeling  better  already." 

I  slept  soundly  enough,  in  spite  of  my  new  anxiety, 
but  the  morrow  brought  me  no  alleviation.  The  old 
lady's  vigour  was  gone,  and  she  moved  about  the  house 
without  energy.  But  her  cheerfulness  never  failed 
her,  and  her  patience  was  something  to  marvel  at. 

Dr.  Trempest  pulled  up  his  horse  at  the  gate  and 
stopped  to  have  a  chat  one  day,  and  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  mentioning  my  uneasiness. 

"  I'll  pop  in  and  look  at  her,"  he  said.     "  Why  don't 


240  WINDYRIDGE 

you  give  her  the  same  magic  physic  you've  poured  down 
the  throat  of  my  old  friend  Evans  ?  He's  taken  on  a 
new  lease  of  life.  I  tell  you  it's  a  miracle,  and  he  says 
you  did  it,  but  he  won't  divulge  the  secret.  Dear  ! 
dear  !  we  old  fogeys  are  no  use  at  all  in  competition 
with  the  women  !  But  come,  let's  have  a  look  at  the 
old  girl." 

He  walked  brusquely  in  and  sat  astride  a  chair, 
leaning  his  chin  on  the  high  back,  and  talked 
with  her  for  ten  minutes.  Then  he  came  out  to  me 
again. 

"  Can't  say  much  without  an  examination,  but 
appears  to  me  the  machinery's  getting  done.  We  can 
none  of  us  last  for  ever,  you  know.  Keep  her  still, 
if  you  can,  and  tell  her  she  needn't  be  up  every  two 
minutes  to  flick  the  dust  off  the  fireirons.  Drive  her 
out,  now  and  then,  and  let  her  have  exercise  without 
exertion ;  and  don't  you  pull  a  long  face  before  her  or 
get  excited  or  boisterous." 

I  pulled  a  face  at  him,  and  he  grinned  as  he  mounted 
his  horse.  "  I'll  send  her  up  a  bottle,"  he  said  ;  "  works 
wonders,  does  a  bottle,  if  it's  mixed  with  faith  in  them 
that  take  it ;  "  and  the  caustic  old  man  moved  slowly 
away. 

The  bottle  came,  but  so  far  it  has  wrought  no 
miracle,  and  there  has  crept  into  my  heart  the  unwel- 
come suggestion  of  loss.  I  have  tried  not  to  admit  it, 
not  to  recognise  it  when  admitted,  but  the  attempt  is 
vain.  Dr.  Trempest  shakes  his  head  and  repeats 
his  sagacious  remark  that  we  can't  live  for  ever,  and 


PARABLE  OF  THE   HEATHER     241 

the  squire  presses  my  hand  in  sympathy,  being  too 
honest  to  attempt  to  comfort  me  with  hollow  hopes. 

Only  Mother  Hubbard  herself  is  cheerful,  and  as 
her  physical  strength  decreases  she  appears  to  gain 
self-possession  and  mental  vigour.  When  the  squire 
suggested  that  she  should  be  asked  to  accompany 
us  on  the  drives  which  he  so  much  enjoys  I  anticipated 
considerable  opposition,  and  felt  certain  that  she  would 
yield  most  reluctantly,  but  to  my  surprise  she  consented 
without  demur. 

"  This  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  Evans,  love,"  she  said, 
"  and  if  you  do  not  mind  having  an  old  woman  with 
you  I  shall  be  glad  to  go." 

She  did  not  say  much  on  these  excursions,  but  when 
she  was  directly  spoken  to  she  answered  without  con- 
fusion, and  was  quite  unconscious  that  she  occasionally 
addressed  the  squire  as  "  love."  He  never  betrayed 
any  consciousness  of  it,  but  I  once  noticed  a  repressed 
smile  steal  over  Webster's  face  as  he  sat  upon  the  box. 

Now  it  was  that  I  saw  the  full  beauty  of  the  moorland 
which  had  made  so  strong  an  appeal  to  my  father's 
heart.  I  felt  my  own  strangely  stirred,  and  my  two 
companions  were  also  full  of  emotion.  I  believe  it 
spoke  to  each  of  us  with  a  different  voice,  and  had  not 
quite  the  same  message  for  any  two  of  us.  I  have 
hardly  analysed  my  own  feelings,  but  I  think  the  rich 
and  yet  subdued  colouring  got  hold  of  my  imagination, 
and  the  wildness  of  the  scene  impressed  me  powerfully. 

I  had  always  known  these  moors — known  them  from 
my  childhood  ;  but  only  as  one  knows  many  things — 


242  WINDYRIDGE 

the  moon  or  the  Mauritius,  for  instance — from  the  de- 
scription of  others.  The  picture  painted  for  me  had  been 
true  to  life,  but  not  living  ;  yet  it  had  been  sufficiently 
lifelike  to  make  the  reality  strangely  familiar.  And 
now  I  looked  at  it  with  double  vision — through  my 
own  eyes  and  my  father's  ;  and  the  thought  of  what 
he  would  have  felt  quickened  my  perceptions  and 
attuned  them  to  the  spirit  of  my  ancestors.  The 
moors  were  sheeted  in  purple,  brightened  by  clumps 
of  golden  gorse,  and  I  could  easily  have  followed  the 
example  of  Linnaeus,  who,  when  he  first  saw  the 
yellow  blossom,  is  said  to  have  fallen  on  his  knees  and 
praised  God  for  its  beauty. 

The  squire  had  known  the  moors  always.  To  him 
the  scene  speaks  of  home.  I  do  not  think  the  actual 
beauty  of  it  impresses  him  greatly,  perhaps  because 
of  its  extreme  familiarity,  and  it  does  not  arouse  in 
him  the  same  sensation  of  pleasure  or  appeal  to  his 
artistic  sense  in  the  same  degree  as  the  grander  scenery 
he  has  so  lately  left  behind. 

But  this  contents  him  as  nothing  else  does  or  could  ! 
It  is  as  when  one  exchanges  the  gilded  chairs  of  state 
for  the  old,  familiar  arm-chair  which  would  appear 
shabby  to  some  people,  or  the  dress  shoes  of  ceremony 
for  the  homely  slippers  on  the  hearth.  He  admits 
now  that  he  is  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  abroad, 
and  that  he  is  glad  to  spend  the  late  evening  of  his 
days  amid  the  friendly  scenes  of  his  youth  and 
manhood. 

As  for  Mother  Hubbard,  she  is  quite  unconsciously 


PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER  243 
a  mixture  of  poet  and  prophet.  Everything  speaks 
to  her  of  God. 

"  Yes,  love,"  she  said  quite  recently,  "  '  He  maketh 
everything  beautiful  in  its  season  ; '  and  to  her  the 
country  is  always  beautiful,  because  it  is  always  as 
God  made  it.  That  is  why  she  loves  it  so  much,  I  am 
sure ;  and  whether  it  glows  and  sparkles  beneath  the 
hot  sun  of  August  or  lies  dun  and  grey  under  the 
clouded  skies  of  February  it  is  always  full  of  charm. 
To  her,  all  God's  paintings  show  the  hand  of  the  Master, 
whether  done  in  monochrome  or  in  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow,  and  none  of  them  fails  to  satisfy  her. 

And  Nature  preaches  to  her,  but  the  sermons  are 
always  comforting  to  her  soul,  for  her  inward  ear  has 
never  been  trained  to  catch  the  gloomy  messages 
which  some  of  us  hear  so  readily.  But  where  she  finds 
consolation  I  discover  disquietude. 

The  horse  had  been  pulled  up  at  a  point  where  the 
wide  panorama  stretched  limitlessly  before  us,  and  for 
a  time  we  had  all  been  speechless.  I  had  gathered  a 
tiny  bunch  of  heather  and  fastened  it  in  my  belt,  and 
now  stood,  shading  my  eyes  with  my  hand,  as  I  looked 
across  the  billowy  expanse.  The  squire  had  closed 
his  eyes,  but  his  face  showed  no  trace  of  weariness,  and 
I  knew  that  he  was  happy. 

Mother  Hubbard  broke  the  silence,  as  she  sank  back 
into  her  seat  with  a  little  sigh,  and  when  I  sat  down 
Webster  drove  slowly  on. 

"It  is  nice  to  think,  love,  that  though  you  have 
gathered  and  taken  away  a  sprig  of  heather  the  land- 


244  WINDYRIDGE 

scape  is  still  beautiful.  And  yet,  you  know,  the  little 
flowers  you  have  plucked  gave  their  share  of  beauty 
to  the  whole,  and  helped  God  to  do  His  work.  I 
think,  love,  that  thought  encourages  me  when  I  know 
that  the  Lord  may  soon  stretch  out  His  hand  for  me. 
Your  little  flowers  have  not  lived  in  vain.  Only  their 
neighbours  will  miss  them,  but  their  little  world  would 
not  have  been  quite  as  beautiful  without  them." 

I  think  the  squire  was  astonished,  but  he  remained 
quite  still,  and  I  replied  : 

"  That  is  very  true,  dear,  but  the  heather  has  never 
thwarted  its  Maker's  purpose,  but  has  lived  the  life 
He  designed,  and  so  has  perfectly  fulfilled  its  mission. 
With  man,  alas  !  it  is  not  so.  He  too  often  makes 
a  sad  bungle  of  life,  and  is  so  full  of  imperfections  that 
he  cannot  add  much  to  the  beauty  of  the  landscape." 

Mother  Hubbard  shook  her  head  and  pointed  to  the 
moors.  "  Yet  that  is  very  beautiful,  love,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  perfect,"  I  replied. 

"  Perfect,  is  it  ?  Look  at  the  little  flowers  at  your 
waist.  See,  one  little  bell  has  been  blighted  in  some 
way,  and  there  are  several  which  seem  to  have  been 
eaten  away  in  parts,  and  here  and  there  some  have 
fallen  off.  I  wonder  if  you  could  find  a  sprig,  love, 
where  every  bell  and  tiny  leaf  is  perfect.  Not  many,  I 
think.  Yet  you  say  the  view  is  perfect,  though  the 
parts  are  full  of  imperfections." 

The  squire  opened  his  eyes  and  bent  them  gravely 
upon  her,  but  he  did  not  speak,  and  she  did  not  observe 
him. 


PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER     245 

"Ah,  but,  dear  Mother  Hubbard,"  I  said,  "the 
heather  bells  cannot  help  their  imperfections.  The 
blight  and  the  insect,  the  claw  of  bird,  the  foot  of 
beast,  the  hand  and  heel  of  man — how  can  they  resist 
these  things  ?  But  again  I  say,  with  man  it  is  not 
so.  He  is  the  master  of  his  destiny.  He  has  freedom 
of  will,  and  when  he  fails  and  falls  and  spoils  his  life 
it  is  his  own  fault." 

"  Not  always,  love,"  the  gentle  voice  replied  ;  "  per- 
haps not  often  entirely  his  own  fault.  I  used  to  think 
like  that,  but  God  has  given  me  clearer  vision  now. 
Here  is  poor  Sar'-Ann,  not  daring  to  show  her  face  out- 
side the  door  ;  covered  with  shame  for  her  own  sin 
and  Ginty's.  Oh  yes,  love,  she  has  spoiled  her  life. 
But  think  of  how  she  has  been  brought  up  :  in  a  little 
cottage  where  there  was  a  big  family  and  only  two 
rooms  ;  where  the  father  was  coarse  and  the  boys — 
poor  little  fellows — imitated  him  ;  and  the  mother, 
though  she  has  a  kind  heart,  is  vulgar  and  often 
thoughtless  ;  where  decency  has  been  impossible  and 
woman's  frailty  has  been  made  a  jest.  It  has  not  been 
Sar'-Ann 's  fault,  love,  that  she  has  been  placed  there. 
She  had  no  voice  in  the  selection  of  her  lot.  She  might 
have  been  in  your  home  and  you  in  hers.  That  little 
bunch  of  heather  would  have  been  safe  yet  if  it  had 
not  been  growing  by  the  roadside  where  you  stood." 

"  Then  God  is  responsible  for  Sar'-Ann  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  God  is  her  Father,  and  He  loves  her  very  dearly," 
she  replied  simply.  "  There  are  lots  of  questions  I 
cannot  answer,  love,  but  I  am  sure  He  will  not  throw 


246  WINDYRIDGE 

Sar'-Ann  away  because  she  has  been  blighted  and 

stained." 

The  squire  broke  in  now,  and  there  was  just  a  little 
tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke  : 

"  '  And  when  the  vessel  that  he  made  of  the  clay  was 
marred  in  the  hands  of  the  potter  he  made  it  again 
another  vessel,  as  seemed  good  to  the  potter  to  make 
it.'  " 

Mother  Hubbard's  eyes  lit  up.  "  Yes,  sir,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  do  not  think  he  grieved  too  much  because  the 
first  design  went  wrong.  He  just  made  it  again  another 
vessel.  Perhaps  he  meant  at  first  to  make  a  very 
beautiful  and  graceful  vessel,  but  there  were  imper- 
fections and  flaws  in  the  material,  so  he  made  it  into  a 
homely  jug  ;  and  yet  it  was  useful." 

"  Oh,  Mother  Hubbard !  "  I  said,  "  there  are  all 
sorts  of  imperfections  and  flaws  in  your  logic,  and  I 
know  people  who  would  shake  it  to  pieces  in  a  moment." 

"  Well,  love,  perhaps  so  ;  but  they  would  not  shake 
my  faith  : 

"  '  To  one  fixed  ground  my  spirit  clings, 
I  know  that  God  is  good.'  " 

"  Stick  to  that,  Mrs.  Hubbard,"  said  the  squire 
earnestly  ;  "  never  let  go  that  belief.  Faith  is  greater 
far  than  logic.  I  would  sooner  doubt  God's  existence 
than  His  goodness.  Problems  of  sin  and  suffering 
have  oppressed  my  brain  and  heart  all  my  life,  but  like 
you  I  have  got  clearer  vision  during  these  later  days. 
The  clouds  often  disperse  towards  the  sunset,  and  my 
mental  horizon  is  undimmed  now.  You  and  I  cannot 


PARABLE  OF  THE  HEATHER  247 
explain  life's  mysteries,  but  God  can,  and  meanwhile  I 
hold 

"  '  That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete.'  " 

"  Tennyson  was  not  Paul,"  I  remarked. 

"  Why  should  he  have  been  ?  "  he  asked.  "  He  was 
a  Christian  seer,  none  the  less,  and  he  had  the  heavenly 
vision." 

"  But  you  cannot  call  his  theology  orthodox,"  I 
persisted  ;  "  is  it  in  any  sense  Biblical  ?  " 

"  Whence  came  his  vision  and  inspiration  if  not 
from  God  ?  "  he  replied.  Then  he  turned  to  Mother 
Hubbard  :  "  Thank  you,  thank  you  much,"  he  said  ; 
"  I  shall  not  forget  your  parable  of  the  heather." 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

ROGER   TREFFIT    INTRODUCES    "  MISS    TERRY  " 

I  HAD  a  letter  from  Rose  this  morning.  The  lucky 
girl  has  got  another  holiday  and  is  apparently 
having  a  fine  time  at  Eastbourne.  She  says  the 
chief  insisted  that  her  trip  north  was  not  a  holiday,  but 
a  tonic.  If  so,  it  was  a  very  palatable  one,  I  am  sure, 
from  the  way  she  took  it.  Whilst,  therefore,  I  am 
exposing  plates  and  developing  negatives,  she  is  enjoy- 
ing refreshing  sea-breezes,  and  listening  to  good  music. 
It  appears  her  chief  recommended  Eastbourne,  and 
I  gather  from  her  letter  that  he  is  there  himself  with 
his  family. 

So  is  the  Cynic  !  The  courts  are  closed  for  the  most 
part,  but  he  told  me  a  while  ago  that  there  were  one  or 
two  Old  Bailey  cases  in  which  he  was  interested  which 
would  prevent  him  from  going  very  far  away,  and  he 
is  taking  week-ends  on  the  south  coast.  It  is  curious 
that  he  should  have  hit  upon  Eastbourne — quite  by 
accident,  Rose  assures  me — and  that  they  should  have 
met  so  early.  I  am  not  surprised  that  they  should  have 
been  together  for  a  long  ramble  over  the  downs,  though 
I  imagine  they  would  have  liked  it  better  without  the 
presence  of  a  third  party.  Rose  is  not  very  clear 
about  it,  but  apparently  there  were  three  of  them. 
What  a  nuisance  for  them  both  ! 


ROGER  TREFFIT  249 

The  Cynic  does  not  expect  to  be  in  Windyridge  again 
before  the  end  of  this  month.  I  always  think  September 
seems  a  particularly  long  month,  and  yet  it  has  only 
thirty  days. 

Meantime  the  village  is  affording  me  further  oppor- 
tunities of  studying  Mother  Hubbard's  theories  of 
human  nature  and  discovering  the  germ  of  goodness 
in  things  evil.  It  is  a  difficult  hunt ! 

Little  Lucy  Treffit's  father  has  come  home,  and  the 
fact  has  a  good  deal  of  significance  for  Lucy  and  her 
mother.  I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  the  silly  man. 
He  struts  about  the  village  as  though  he  were  doing 
us  a  favour  to  grace  it  with  his  presence.  He  puts  a 
thumb  in  each  arm-hole  of  his  waistcoat,  wears  a  con- 
stant smile  on  his  flabby  face  when  in  public,  and  nods 
at  everybody  as  he  passes,  in  the  most  condescending 
way  imaginable. 

He  is  quite  an  under-sized  man,  but  broad  all  the 
way  down  ;  it  looks  as  though  at  some  time  in  his  life, 
when  he  may  have  been  very  soft  and  putty-like,  a 
heavy  hand  had  been  placed  on  his  head,  and  he  had 
been  compressed  into  a  foot  less  height.  What  gives 
reality  to  the  impression  is  the  extreme  length  of  his 
trousers,  which  hang  over  his  boots  in  folds. 

The  delight  of  his  eyes  and  the  joy  of  his  heart  is 
neither  wife  nor  child,  but  a  smooth-haired  terrier 
which  brings  in  the  living,  such  as  it  is. 

During  the  summer  months  Roger  and  his  dog 
frequent  the  popular  seaside  resorts  and  give  beach 
entertainments  of  "an  'igh-class  character  "  to  quote 


250  WINDYRIDGE 

Roger  himself.  In  the  winter  months  they  secure 
engagements  at  music-halls,  bazaars,  school-enter- 
tainments and  the  like,  when  the  income  is  more 
precarious. 

Ordinarily  the  man  is  not  home  until  October,  but 
unfortunately  the  dog's  health  broke  down  in  the  latter 
part  of  August,  and  Roger  came  home  to  save  the  cost 
of  lodgings,  and  to  get  drink  on  credit.  For,  almost 
alone  among  the  villagers,  this  man  gets  drunk  day  by 
day  with  marked  consistency  ;  and  if  he  is  irritating 
when  sober  he  is  nothing  less  than  contemptible  when 
intoxicated.  He  then  becomes  more  suave  than  ever, 
and  his  mouth  curves  into  a  smile  which  reaches  his 
ears,  but  he  is  more  stupid  and  obstinate  than  the 
proverbial  mule.  And  the  worst  of  it  is  he  drinks  at 
home,  for  the  nearest  inn  is  above  a  mile  away,  so  his 
unhappy  wife  has  a  rough  time  of  it.  Yet  he  is  not 
actively  unkind  to  her  ;  he  does  not  beat  her  body- 
he  merely  starves  and  wounds  her  soul. 

She  is  a  thin,  wasted  woman,  about  thirty  years 
old,  I  suppose,  of  more  than  average  intelligence,  and 
one  of  the  best  needlewomen  I  have  ever  seen.  She 
does  beautiful  work  for  which  she  is  wretchedly  paid, 
but  it  serves  to  keep  the  home  together.  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  she  is  suffering  from  some  serious 
disease,  but  she  herself  refuses  to  harbour  any  such 
thought.  I  am  very  much  interested  in  her  and  little 
Lucy,  and  during  the  summer  have  paid  them  many 
a  visit  and  been  cheered  by  the  little  girl's  delightful 
prattle. 


ROGER   TREFFIT  251 

They  live  in  a  very  poor  house,  and  a  most  peculiar 
one.  It  is  two-storeyed,  but  unusually  narrow,  and 
the  only  window  in  the  upper  room  is  a  fixture 
in  the  roof.  It  really  is  remarkable  that  in  a  place 
like  Windyridge  so  many  of  the  windows  cannot  be 
opened,  either  because  they  were  so  constructed  at 
first,  or  because  their  owners  have  painted  and  varnished 
them  until  they  are  glued  fast. 

The  stones  in  the  walls  are  loose  in  many  places  and 
the  stone  slabs  on  the  roof  lie  about  at  various  angles, 
and  seem  to  invite  the  thin,  tall  chimney-stack — 
and  why  it  should  be  so  tall  I  have  never  been 
able  to  surmise — to  fall  down  and  send  them  flying. 
It  is  a  mean,  rickety  house,  not  worth  the  cost  of 
repair. 

Inside,  however,  it  is  as  clean  and  comfortable  as 
any  other  in  the  village.  The  floor  is  spotless,  the  deal 
tables  are  white  as  soap  and  water  can  make  them, 
the  steel  fender  and  fire-irons  shine  like  mirrors,  and 
the  short  curtains  at  the  window  might  always  have 
come  straight  from  the  laundry. 

I  did  not  know  Roger  had  come  home  when  I 
raised  the  latch  and  entered  the  house,  after  the 
usual  prefunctory  knock,  the  other  day,  and  I 
apologised  for  my  unceremonious  entrance  with  some 
confusion. 

Roger  waved  his  hand  loftily.  "  Quite  all  right, 
ma'am  ;  quite  all  right.  Miss  Terry,  oblige  me  by 
getting  the  lady  a  chair." 

The  dog  rose  to  its  feet  and  with  its  nose  and 


252  WINDYRIDGE 

forepaws  pushed  a  chair  from  the  wall  in  the  direction 

of  the  fireplace. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Terry,"  remarked  the  man,  "  I 
am  much  obliged  to  you.  Pray  be  seated,  ma'am." 

I  was  interested,  in  spite  of  myself.  "  Yours  is  a 
very  remarkable  dog,  Mr.  Treffit,"  I  said. 

"  Yes'm  ;  very  much  so  indeed.  Miss  Terry  is  the 
name  I  gave  'er,  because  she  is  a  '  mystery.'  See  ? 
Ha  !  ha  !  Very  good  that,  eh  ?  Mystery — Miss 
Terry.  Miss  Terry  and  me,  ma'am,  has  appeared 
before  the  nobility,  clergy  and  gentry  of  a  dozen 
counties." 

I  expressed  polite  astonishment  and  inquired  for 
Mrs.  Treffit. 

"  My  wife,  ma'am,  is  upstairs  in  the  chamber.  If  you 
want  her  I  will  send  for  her.  Miss  Terry,  will  you 
convey  my  respects  to  the  missis,  and  ask  her  to  step 
this  way  ?  "  The  request  was  accompanied  by  a 
significant  gesture  in  the  direction  of  the  narrow  stair- 
case, and  the  dog,  with  an  inclination  of  the  head 
which  might  have  been  intended  for  a  bow,  bounded 
up  the  steps  and  returned  with  its  mistress.  Its  mis- 
tress ?  No,  I  withdraw  the  word— with  its  master's 
wife. 

She  coughed  a  good  deal  as  she  came  down,  and  I 
suggested  that  a  short  walk  in  the  sunshine  would  do 
her  good,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Miss  'Olden,  but  I'm  that  busy  I  couldn't 
leave  just  now.  I  was  wonderin'  if  you'd  mind  comin' 
upstairs  while  I  get  on  with  my  work." 


ROGER   TREFFIT  253 

"  Sit  down  a  bit,  can't  you  ?  "  said  the  man  ;  "  1 
want  Miss  Terry  to  show  this  lady  some  of  her 
tricks.  You're  always  in  such  a  desperate  hurry, 
you  are." 

"  Someb'dy  has  to  be  in  a  'urry,"  she  replied,  "  when 
there's  naught  comin'  in,  an'  three  mouths  to  feed,  to 
say  nothin'  of  the  dog,  which  costs  nearly  as  much  as 
all  t'  rest  put  together." 

'  You  leave  the  dog  alone,"  he  growled  ;  "  Miss 
Terry  brings  in  as  much  as  all  t'  rest  put  together, 
doesn't  she  ?  " 

"  I  say  nought  against  her,"  she  answered  wearily  ; 
"  t'  dog's  right  enough,  but  she's  bringin'  nought  in 
now." 

She  sat  down,  however,  at  my  side,  and  Miss  Terry 
proceeded  to  justify  her  name.  She  dressed  herself 
in  a  queer  little  hobble-skirt  costume,  put  on  a  hat  and 
veil,  raised  a  sunshade,  and  moved  about  the  room  in 
the  most  amusing  way.  She  fetched  a  miniature 
bedstead,  undressed  and  put  herself  to  bed  in  a  manner 
calculated  to  bring  down  the  house  every  time.  She 
removed  the  handkerchief  (a  very  dirty  one,  by  the 
way)  from  her  master's  pocket,  sneezed,  wiped  her 
nose,  and  then  replaced  it  without  apparently  arousing 
its  owner's  attention.  She  drank  out  of  his  glass, 
simulated  intoxication,  and  fell  into  a  seemingly 
drunken  sleep,  with  much  exaggerated  snoring. 

And  all  the  time  Roger  Treffit  stood  or  sat,  as  cir- 
cumstances required,  addressing  the  dog  in  the  politest 
and  most  deferential  terms,  with  the  smug  smile  of 


254  WINDYRIDGE 

satisfaction  threatening  to  cut  the  chin  entirely  from 
his  face. 

"  Now,  Miss  Terry,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "  you  must 
not  overtire  yourself.  We  are  very  grateful  for  the 
hentertainment  you  have  pervided.  Have  the  good- 
ness to  step  up  to  the  lady  and  say  good-bye." 

The  dog  extended  a  paw,  and  Martha  and  I  were 
permitted  to  withdraw. 

"  It  really  is  a  very  clever  dog,"  I  remarked,  when 
we  were  alone  in  the  prison-like  bedroom. 

"  It's  a  very  good  dog,  too,"  she  replied  ;  "  it  'ud 
look  after  me  more  nor  he  would  if  he'd  let  it.  It 
'asn't  a  bit  o'  vice  about  it,  an'  I  only  wish  I  could  say 
as  much  for  its  master." 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  up  here  in  this  wretched  loft, 
where  the  light  is  so  poor  for  such  fine  work  ?  " 

"  To  be  out  of  his  way,  an'  that's  the  truth,"  she 
replied  bitterly.  "  I  shall  go  down  when  Lucy  comes 
in  from  t'  school,  and  not  afore.  I've  never  no  peace 
nor  pleasure  when  he's  at  'ome." 

"  He  doesn't  ill-treat  you,  does  he  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  see  him  all  t'  day  through, 
soakin',  soakin'.  He  can  always  walk  straight,  however 
much  he  takes,  but  'e  gets  that  nasty  by  tea-time  there's 
no  bidin'  in  t'  'ouse  with  'im.  And  he  natters  so 
when  I  cough,  an'  I  can't  help  coughin'.  It's  nought 
much,  an'  I've  got  used  to  it,  but  it  vexes  'im,  an'  he 
says  it  worries  t'  dog." 

"  He's  a  brute  !  "  I  said  ;  "  anybody  can  see  that  he 
thinks  more  of  his  dog  than  of  you." 


ROGER  TREFFIT  255 

"  Well,  you  see,  his  dog's  his  business.  I  don't 
know  'at  he's  worse  nor  lots  more  'at  makes  their 
business  into  their  god,  but  it  isn't  always  easy  to 
bide.  An'  when  I  get  to  t'  far  end  I  answer  back, 
an'  that  makes  fireworks.  I  wish  he  wor  at  Black- 
pool yet." 

At  that  moment  a  loud  report  rang  through  the  house, 
and  I  sprang  from  my  seat  in  alarm. 

"  It's  nothin',"  said  Martha  ;  "  there's  nought  to  be 
frightened  of.  He's  teachin'  t'  dog  some  new  fool's 
trick  with  a  pistol,  but  I  don't  believe  there's  a  bullet 
in  it.  He  nearly  frightened  me  an'  our  Lucy  out  of 
our  wits  t'  first  time  he  did  it." 

I  sat  down  again.,  but  my  heart  was  still  beating 
violently.  "  I  fear  I  couldn't  live  with  such  a  com- 
panion," I  said. 

"  You'd  'ave  to,  if  you  were  i'  my  shoes,"  she  replied. 
"  I'm  tied  up  to  'im,  ain't  I  ?  Tell  me  what  you'd  do. 
You  couldn't  get  a  divorce  even  if  you'd  plenty  o' 
money,  for  he  never  bothers  wi'  other  women.  An' 
t'  court  wouldn't  give  me  an  order,  'cos  he  doesn't 
thrash  me  ;  an' t'  vicar's  wife  says  'at  it  was  for  better 
or  worse  'at  I  took  'im,  an'  I  must  kill  him  wi'  kindness. 
But  kindness  doesn't  kill  'im  ;  nought  does.  Oh  God, 
if  it  wasn't  for  our  Lucy  I'd  be  glad  to  go  where  he 
couldn't  follow." 

'  You  won't  think  I  am  preaching,  will  you,  dear,"  I 
said,  "  if  I  ask  you  if  you  have  tried  really  hard  to 
make  him  love  you  ?  I  don't  quite  know  what  you 
could  do,  but  there  must  be  some  way  of  reaching 


256  WINDYRIDGE 

his  heart.  And  think  how  happy  you  would  all  be  if 
you  could  change  his  heart  and  win  his  love." 

"  Miss  'Olden,  there  comes  a  time  when  you  give 
up  tryin',  becos  you  fair  'aven't  strength  an'  'eart  to 
go  on.  I've  done  all  I  could  for  that  man.  He's 
asked  nought  of  me  I  'aven't  let  'im  'ave.  I'm  the 
mother  of  his  child,  an'  I've  tried  to  learn  t'  little 
lass  to  be  as  good  as  she's  bonny,  bless  her  !  an'  I  keep 
her  as  neat  as  I  know  how ;  an'  he  thinks  more  o'  t'  dog. 
I've  worked  early  an'  late  to  keep  t'  'ome  together,  an' 
he's  never  once  found  it  ought  but  tidy,  for  I  get  up 
afore  he  wakes  to  scrub  and  polish.  I've  gone  without 
food  to  give  'im  luxuries,  an'  he  never  says  so  much  as 
'  Thank  ye  '  ;  but  he  thanks  t'  dog  for  every  trick  he's 
trained  it  to.  I've  smiled  on  'im  when  my  heart's 
been  like  lead,  an'  talked  cheerful  when  it  'ud  'a  done 
me  good  to  cry — an'  all  for  what  ?  Not  for  curses  : 
not  for  kicks.  I  could  stand  curses  an'  kicks  when  he 
wor  i'  drink,  if  he'd  love  me  an'  be  sorry  when  he  wor 
sober.  No,  after  all  I've  done  for  'im  he  just  takes 
no  notice  of  me.  I'm  his  woman,  not  his  wife,  an' 
I'm  too  broken-hearted  now  to  try  any  more." 

One  solitary  tear  stole  down  her  cheek — a  tiny  tear, 
as  though  the  fountain  from  which  it  had  escaped 
were  nearly  dry  ;  and  she  did  not  stop  to  wipe  it  away. 

I  bent  over  and  kissed  her.  "  The  darkest  night 
ends  in  day,"  I  said.  "  Don't  lose  heart  or  hope.  I 
cannot  preach  to  you,  and  I  fear  if  I  were  in  your  place 
I  should  not  do  so  well  as  you.  I  should  lose  my 
temper  as  well  as  my  spirits.  But  don't  let  love  die 


ROGER  TREFFIT  257 

if  you  can  help  it.  I  suppose  you  loved  him 
once  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  loved  him  once,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  still  love  him  ?  "  I  ventured. 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  neither  love  'im  nor  'ate  'im. 
But  I  love  his  child.  That's  our  Lucy's  voice.  I  must 
be  goin'  down  now." 


CHAPTER    XXV 

THE    RETURN    OF   THE    PRODIGAL 

I  HAVE  been  one  whole  year  in  Windyridge,  and 
like  a  good  business  woman  I  have  taken  stock  and 
endeavoured  to  get  out  a  balance  sheet  in  regular 
"Profit  and  Loss  "  fashion.     I  am  afraid  a  professional 
accountant  would  heap  scorn  upon  it,  as  my  methods 
are  not   those  taught   in  the  arithmetics ;   but  that 
consideration  does  not  concern  me. 

My  nett  profits  from  the  portraiture  branch  amount 
to  the  huge  sum  of  nine  pounds,  eighteen  shillings  and 
sevenpence.  If  these  figures  were  to  be  published  I 
do  not  think  they  would  attract  competitors  to  Windy- 
ridge,  and  I  can  see  plainly  that  I  shall  not  recoup  my 
initial  outlay  on  the  studio  for  several  years.  But 
that  matters  little,  as  my  London  firms  have  kept  me 
well  supplied  with  work,  and  would  give  me  a  great 
deal  more  if  I  were  willing  to  take  it. 

But  I  am  not  willing.  Man  does  not  live  by  bread 
alone,  nor  by  painting  miniatures  and  designing  book 
illustrations,  and  I  am  determined  to  live  and  not  just 
exist,  and  I  have  lived  during  these  twelve  months. 
And  even  from  the  monetary  point  of  view  I  am  better 
off  than  I  was  when  I  came,  because  if  I  have  lost  in 
the  way  of  income  I  have  gained  by  a  saving  in  expendi- 
ture. You  simply  cannot  spend  money  in  Windyridge, 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL  259 
and,  what  is  more,  the  things  best  worth  having  cannot 
be  bought  with  money. 

These  "  more  excellent  "  things  appear  upon  another 
page  in  my  balance  sheet — a  page  which  would  make 
the  professional  auditor  gasp  for  breath. 

My  experiences  have  made  me  a  richer  woman,  though 
not  a  more  important  personage  to  my  bankers.  I  am 
healthier  and  happier  than  I  was  a  year  ago.  I  have  a 
living  interest  in  an  entire  community,  and  an  entire 
community  has  a  living  interest  in  me.  And  I  have  a 
few  real  friends  in  various  stations  of  life,  each  of  whom 
would  do  a  great  deal  for  me,  and  each  of  whom  has 
taught  me  several  valuable  lessons  without  fee  or 
reward.  The  moors  and  the  glens,  too,  have  had  me  to 
school  and  opened  to  me  their  secret  stores  of  knowledge, 
and  who  shall  compute  the  worth  of  that  education  ? 
As  a  result,  I  have  a  saner  outlook  and  a  truer  judg- 
ment, and  that  counts  for  much  in  my  case.  Un- 
doubtedly the  balance  is  on  the  right  side,  and  I  have 
no  regrets  as  I  turn  and  look  back  along  the  track  of 
the  year. 

The  anniversary  day  itself  was  marked  by  an  incident 
of  uncommon  interest.  The  weather  was  atrocious, 
and  in  marked  contrast  to  that  of  the  previous  year 
on  the  corresponding  date.  Had  such  conditions 
prevailed  when  I  first  saw  Windyridge  the  village 
would  not  have  known  me  as  one  of  its  householders. 

It  rained  as  though  the  floodgates  of  heaven  had 
been  opened  and  got  rusted  fast.  For  three  days  there 
had  been  one  endless  downpour,  but  on  the  fateful 


260  WINDYRIDGE 

Wednesday  it  degenerated  into  a  miserable,  depressing 
drizzle  which  gave  me  the  blues.  The  distance  disap- 
peared behind  an  impenetrable  wall  of  mist,  and  the 
horizon  was  the  hedge  of  the  field  fifty  yards  away. 
The  drip,  drip,  drip  from  a  leak  in  the  glazing  of  my 
studio  so  got  on  my  nerves  that  in  the  afternoon  I  put  on 
my  strong  boots  and  a  waterproof  and  set  out  for  a  walk. 

But  though  the  rain  could  not  conquer  me  the  sticky 
mud  did.  After  covering  a  mile  in  half  an  hour  I  was 
so  tired  with  the  exertion  that  I  turned  back,  and  was 
relieved  when  the  distance  had  been  almost  covered 
and  only  a  few  hundred  yards  separated  me  from  the 
cottage. 

I  had  had  the  road  to  myself  so  far,  but  as  I  came 
down  the  hill  which  skirts  the  graveyard  I  saw  a  stranger 
in  the  act  of  opening  the  gate  and  entering.  At  the 
same  moment,  apparently,  he  caught  sight  of  me,  and 
we  scrutinised  each  other  with  interest  as  the  distance 
between  us  lessened. 

He  was  a  well-dressed  young  fellow  of  about  thirty, 
with  a  stern  expression  on  an  otherwise  rather  pleasing 
face.  His  mouth  was  hidden  by  a  heavy  moustache, 
but  I  liked  his  eyes,  which  had  a  frank  look  in  them. 
His'rather  long  raincoat  was  dripping  wet,  and  he  had 
no  other  protection  from  the  rain,  for  he  carried  in  his 
hand  a  stout  stick  of  peculiar  shape.  His  hands  and 
face  were  brown  from  exposure,  and  I  took  him  to  be 
a  prosperous,  intelligent  farmer. 

He  raised  his  hat  at  my  approach.  "  I  am  sorry  to 
detain  you,  even  for  a  moment,  in  this  rain,"  he  said, 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL     261 

"  but  I  wondered  if  you  could  tell  me  whether  anyone 
of  the  name  of  Brown — Greenwood  Brown — is  buried 
here." 

Oh  !  thought  I,  you  have  come  back,  have  you  ? 
But  I  merely  replied  : 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Brown's  grave  is  near  the  top  of  the  hill. 
I  will  show  you  which  it  is." 

"  Please  do  not  put  yourself  to  that  trouble,"  he 
protested ;  "if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  direct  me 
I  shall  be  able  to  find  it." 

"  You  could  not  identify  it,"  I  said,  "  for  there  is 
no  stone,  but  just  a  grassy  mound,  like  many  of  the 
rest.  Let  me  point  it  out  to  you,  and  then  I  will  go 
on  my  way." 

He  made  no  further  objection,  but  held  the  gate 
open  for  me  to  enter.  There  are  no  paths,  and  he 
protested  again  when  he  saw  me  plunge  into  the  long, 
wet  grass,  but  I  laughed  at  his  fears  and  led  the  way 
to  the  spot  where  all  that  was  mortal  of  poor  Farmer 
Brown  lay  beneath  the  sod. 

"  This  is  his  grave,"  I  said,  and  he  thanked  me  with 
another  courteous  inclination  of  the  head.  As  I  turned 
to  leave  he  asked  a  further  question. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  any  of  his  people  still  live  in  this 
neighbourhood  ?  I — I  have  a  message  for  them." 

"  If  you  will  call  at  my  cottage,"  I  replied,  indicating 
the  little  house  a  stone 's-throw  away,  "  I  will  tell  you 
all  I  know.  Pray  do  not  stay  too  long  in  the  rain. 
You  have  no  umbrella." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  take  no  harm,  and 


262  WINDYRIDGE 

I  will  call  at  your  house  shortly,  as  you  are  so  very 

kind." 

I  left  him,  but  I  could  not  forbear  looking  from  the 
window  in  Mother  Hubbard's  bedroom,  and  I  could 
distinctly  see  him  standing  with  head  bent  and  un- 
covered in  an  attitude  of  deep  dejection  over  his  father's 
grave.  I  had  no  misgiving  on  that  point.  In  spite 
of  the  thick  moustache  the  likeness  was  too  strong  to 
admit  of  doubt. 

I  went  into  the  studio  and  brought  out  the  copy  of 
Farmer  Brown's  portrait  which  I  had  retained,  and 
placed  it  on  the  chest  of  drawers  where  he  could  hardly 
fail  to  see  it  ;  but  I  said  nothing  to  Mother  Hubbard, 
who  was  laying  the  cloth  for  tea.  The  kettle  was 
boiling  when  he  came  in,  and  I  fetched  a  third  cup  and 
saucer  and  invited  him  to  the  table. 

I  could  see  that  reluctance  struggled  with  desire, 
but  Mother  Hubbard's  added  entreaties  turned  the 
scale,  and  he  removed  his  soaking  overcoat  with  many 
apologies  for  the  trouble  he  was  causing. 

He  drank  his  tea,  but  appeared  to  have  little  appetite 
for  the  crisp  buttered  toast  which  Mother  Hubbard 
pressed  upon  him,  and  he  took  a  rather  absent  part  in 
the  desultory  conversation  which  accompanied  the 
meal.  I  did  not  think  it  right  to  reveal  the  curiosity 
I  felt,  but  after  a  while  he  made  an  opening. 

"  I  only  heard  of  Farmer  Brown's  death  as  I  entered 
the  village,"  he  said.  "  I  met  a  boy,  of  whom  I  inquired, 
and  he  told  me  the  farmer  was  buried  here  in  the 
beginning  of  the  year." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL    263 

Mother  Hubbard  put  on  her  glasses  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  new  interest,  and  removed  them  again  in 
a  minute  or  two  as  if  satisfied. 

"  He  died  early  in  January,"  I  said  ;  "did  you  know 
him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  emotion 
in  his  voice  or  face  ;  "  but  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
several  years.  He  had  a  wife  and  daughter  ;  are  they 
living,  and  still  at  the  old  place  ?  I  forgot  to  ask  the 
boy." 

I  thought  it  curious  that  he  should  have  overlooked 
so  natural  a  question,  if,  as  seemed  likely,  he  had  come 
to  the  neighbourhood  with  the  intention  of  finding 
them ;  but  after  all,  the  explanation  lay  upon  the 
surface — he  manifestly  did  not  wish  to  arouse  too  much 
curiosity. 

"  Yes,  they  are  still  at  the  farm,  and  both  are  well," 
I  replied  ;  "  I  often  see  them.  If  you  knew  the  farmer 
you  will  perhaps  recognise  his  photograph.  It  was 
taken  only  a  little  while  before  he  died." 

I  got  up  and  handed  it  to  him,  and  I  saw  his  mouth 
twitch  at  the  corners  as  he  took  the  card  in  his  hand. 
All  the  same  he  examined  it  critically,  and  his  voice 
was  still  firm  as  he  replied  : 

"  He  had  evidently  aged  a  good  deal  since  I  knew 
him,  but  I  am  sure  it  was  a  good  likeness." 

"  It  was  trouble  that  aged  him,  Joe,"  broke  in  Mother 
Hubbard's  gentle  voice  ;  "  the  good  Lord  overrules 
all  things  for  good,  but  it  was  you  who  brought  his 
grey  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 


264  WINDYRTDGE 

There  was  a  mild  severity  of  tone  which  astonished 
me  and  revealed  Mother  Hubbard  in  a  new  light,  but 
I  was  too  interested  in  the  change  which  came  over  the 
startled  man's  face  to  think  much  of  it  at  the  time. 

"  So  you  recognise  me,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  your 
face  was  familiar,  though  the  young  lady's  is  not  so. 
Well,  everybody  will  know  of  my  return  soon,  so  I 
need  not  complain  that  you  have  anticipated  the  news 
by  a  few  hours.  Yes,  the  prodigal  has  come  home, 
but  too  late  to  receive  his  father's  blessing." 

"Not  too  late  to  receive  a  Father's  blessing,  Joe," 
replied  Mother  Hubbard  ;  "  not  too  late  to  find  for- 
giveness and  reconciliation  if  you  have  come  in  the 
right  spirit  ;  but  too  late  to  bring  the  joy-light  into 
your  earthly  father's  eyes  :  too  late  to  hear  the  welcome 
he  would  have  offered  you." 

"  I  do  not  ask  nor  deserve  to  be  spared,"  he  said, 
with  some  dignity,  "  and  my  first  explanations  shall  be 
offered  to  those  who.  have  most  right  to  them.  But 
this  I  will  say,  for  I  can  see  that  you  speak  with  sin- 
cerity. I  came  back  to  seek  forgiveness  and  to  find 
peace,  but  I  am  justly  punished  for  my  sin  in  that  I 
forfeit  both.  You  have  not  said  much,  but  you  have 
said  enough  to  let  me  realise  that  the  curse  of  Cain  is 
upon  me." 

"  It  is  not,"  said  Mother  Hubbard  calmly  and  with 
firmness  ;  "  your  father  would  have  told  you  so.  Go 
home  to  your  mother,  and  you  will  find  in  her  forgive- 
ness and  love  a  dim  reflection  of  the  forgiveness  and 
love  of  God,  and  peace  will  follow." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL    265 

He  rested  one  elbow  upon  the  table  and  leaned 
his  head  upon  his  hand,  whilst  his  fingers  tapped  a 
mechanical  tune  upon  his  forehead,  but  he  did  not  speak 
for  several  minutes — nor  did  we.  Then  he  rose  and 
took  the  still  damp  overcoat  from  the  clothes-horse 
before  the  fire,  and  said  as  he  put  it  on  : 

"  Since  I  left  home  I  have  had  many  hard  tasks  to 
perform.  But  the  hardest  of  them  all  now  lies  before 
me,  and  though  I  have  made  some  little  money  I 
would  give  every  penny  I  possess  if  the  past  could 
be  undone  and  that  grey-haired  man  brought  back  to 
life.  I  am  accounted  a  bold  man,  but  I  would  sooner 
face  a  lion  in  the  Rhodesian  jungle  than  my  mother 
and  sister  on  yonder  farm." 

"Go  in  peace  !  "  said  the  little  mother.  "  God 
stands  by  the  side  of  every  man  who  does  his  duty, 
and  your  mother,  remember,  is  about  to  experience  a 
great  joy.  Let  them  see  that  you  love  them  both, 
and  that  you  loved  your  father  too,  and  that  will  heal 
the  wound  more  quickly  than  anything  else." 

He  shook  Mother  Hubbard's  hand,  bowed  to  me, 
and  stepped  out  into  the  rain  ;  and  I  watched  him 
walk  briskly  forward  until  the  mist  swallowed  him  up. 

Two  days  afterwards  I  heard  the  sequel.  The  rain 
had  cleared  away  and  the  roads  were  fairly  dry  when 
I  set  off  with  the  intention  of  walking  as  far  as  Uncle 
Ned's.  Before  I  had  gone  very  far  I  overtook  Farmer 
Goodenough,  who  was  journeying  in  the  same  direction, 
and  almost  immediately  afterwards  we  met  Jane 
Brown. 


266  WINDYRIDGE 

"  I' was  just  comin'  to  see  you,  Miss  Holden,"  she 
said,  "  but  as  you're  going  my  way  I'll  walk  back  with 
you  if  you'll  let  me.  Mother  wants  to  know  if  you 
can  take  our  photographs — hers  and  Joe's  and  mine — 
on  Monday." 

I  told  her  it  would  be  quite  convenient,  and  Farmer 
Goodenough  began  to  question  her  about  her  brother's 
home-coming.  I  hardly  expected  much  response,  for 
Jane  is  not  usually  very  communicative,  but  on  this 
occasion  she  was  full  of  talk. 

"  I  came  o'  purpose  to  say  my  say,"  she  explained, 
"for  I  must  either  talk  or  burst." 

We  encouraged  the  former  alternative,  and  she 
began  :  "If  you  want  to  be  made  a  fuss  of,  and  have 
people  lay  down  their  lives  for  you,  you  mustn't  stop 
at  'ome  and  do  your  duty  ;  you  must  go  wrong.  Only 
you  mustn't  go  wrong  just  a  little  bit  :  you  must  go 
the  whole  hog  an'  be  a  rank  wrong  'un — kill  your  father 
or  summat  o'  that  sort — and  then  when  you  come  back 
you'll  be  hugged  an'  kissed  an'  petted  till  it's  fair 
sickenin'." 

"  Gently,  lass,  gently  !  "  said  Farmer  Goodenough  ; 
"that  sounds  just  a  trifle  bitter." 

"  I  may  well  be  bitter  ;  you'd  be  bitter  if  you  saw 
what  I  see,"  she  replied. 

I  endeavoured  to  turn  the  conversation  and  to  satisfy 
my  curiosity.  "  Where  has  your  brother  been,  and 
what  has  he  been  doing  all  these  years  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  he  tells  a  tale  like  a  story-book,"  she  replied 
impatiently.  "I'm  bound  to  believe  him,  I  suppose, 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL    267 

because  whatever  else  he  was  he  wasn't  a  liar,  but  it's 
more  like  a  fairy  tale  than  ought  else.  After  he  hit 
father  an'  ran  away  he  got  to  Liverpool,  an'  worked 
his  passage  on  a  boat  to  Cape  Town,  an'  for  a  long 
time  he  got  more  kicks  than  ha'pence — and  serve  him 
right  too,  /  say.  He  tried  first  one  thing  an'  then 
another,  and  landed  up  in  Rhodesia  at  last,  an'  sought 
work  from  a  man  who  employed  a  lot  o'  labour.  He 
says  he  wouldn't  have  been  taken  on  if  the  gentleman 
hadn't  spotted  him  for  a  Yorkshireman.  '  Thou'rt 
Yorkshir',  lad  ?  '  he  said  ;  an'  our  Joe  said :  '  Aye  ! 
bred  an'  born.'  '  Let's  hear  ta  talk  a  bit  o'  t'  owd 
tongue,  lad,'  he  said  ;  '  aw've  heeard  nowt  on  't  for 
twelve  yeear,  an'  t'  missis  willn't  hev  it  spokken  i' 
t'  haase.' 

"  Well,  of  course,  Joe  entered  into  t'  spirit  of  it, 
an'  the  old  gentleman  was  delighted,  an'  gave  him  a 
job,  an'  he  always  had  to  speak  broad  Yorkshire  un- 
less the  missis  was  there.  It  wasn't  exactly  a  farm, 
but  they  grew  fruit  an'  vegetables  and  kept  poultry 
an'  pigs  an'  bees  an'  such  like,  and  it  was  just  to  our 
Joe's  taste.  I  won't  deny  but  what  he's  clever,  and 
he  was  always  steady  an'  honest.  He  says  the  old 
gentleman  took  to  him  an'  gave  him  every  chance, 
an'  t'  missis  liked  him  too,  because  he  always  spoke 
so  polite  an'  proper.  An'  then  he  fell  in  love  wi'  one 
o'  t'  daughters,  an'  they  were  married  last  year,  an' 
by  what  I  can  make  out  he's  a  sort  of  a  partner  in  t' 
business  now.  Anyway,  he  says  it's  his  wife  'at  brought 
him  to  see  what  a  wrong  'un  he'd  been,  and  when  he'd 


268  WINDYRIDGE 

told  'em  all  t'  tale  nothing  'ud  do  but  he  was  to  come 
to  England  and  make  it  up  with  his  father.  So  he's 
come,  an'  mother  blubbers  over  him,  an'  holds  his  'and, 
an'  strokes  his  'air  till  I'm  out  of  all  patience." 

Farmer  Goodenough  looked  grave,  but  he  did  not 
speak,  so  I  said  :  "  Isn't  this  rather  unworthy  of  you, 
Jane  ?  Your  mother  is  naturally  glad  to  see  her  boy 
back  again,  and  if  she  had  not  been  here  you  would 
have  welcomed  him  just  as  cordially." 

"  Would  I  ?  "  she  replied.  "  No  fear  !  He  gave 
father  ten  years  of  sorrow  an'  brought  him  to  'is  grave. 
I  loved  my  dad  too  well  to  forgive  his  murderer  that 
easy.  He's  taken  no  notice  of  us  all  this  time,  an'  while 
he's  been  makin'  money  an'  courtin'  a  rich  girl  we  might 
all  have  been  in  t'  workhouse  for  ought  he  knew  or 
cared.  And  then  he's  to  come  home,  an'  it's  to  be 
all  right  straight  off,  an'  we  must  have  t'  best  counter- 
pane on  t'  bed,  an'  t'  china  tea-service  out  'at  were 
my  grandmother's,  an'  we  must  go  slobberin'  round  his 
neck  the  minute  he  puts  his  head  in  at  t'  door.  Bah  ! 
it  makes  me  sick.  You've  only  got  to  be  a  prodigal,  as  I 
say,  an'  then  you  can  have  t'  fatted  calf  killed  for  you." 

"  Now  look  you  here,  lass,"  said  Farmer  Goodenough 
kindly,  "  I've  said  nought  so  far,  'cos  it  does  you  good 
to  talk.  It's  poor  policy  to  bung  t'  kettle  up  when 
t'  water's  boilin',  but  I  think  ye've  let  off  enough  steam 
now  to  keep  from  burstin',  so  well  just  look  into  this 
matter,  an'  see  what  we  can  make  on  't." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  of  old,  Reuben  Goodenough,  "replied 
the  girl ;  "  you'd  be  every  bit  as  bad  as  my  mother." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL    269 

"  You'll  be  every  bit  as  bad  yerself,  lass,  when  ye've 
as  much  sense  ;  but  now  just  let  me  ask  you  a  question 
or  two.  T  Owd  Book  says,  if  I  remember  right,  when 
t'  father  came  out  to  talk  to  t'  sulky  brother  :  '  It  was 
meet  to  make  merry  an'  be  glad/  an'  I  take  that  to 
mean  'at  it  was  t'  right  an'  proper  thing  to  do.  Now 
why  were  they  glad,  think  ye  ?  " 

"  Just  because  he'd  come  home,"  replied  Jane 
bitterly,  "  an'  his  brother,  like  me,  had  never  gone 
away.  I  don't  wonder  'at  he  was  sulky.  But  thai 
prodigal  hadn't  killed  his  father." 

"  Well,  now,  Jane,"  replied  the  farmer,  "  'cor din'  to 
my  way  o'  sizin'  that  tale  up,  you've  got  hold  of  a 
wrong  notion  altogether.  I  don't  know  what  t'  parsons 
'ud  make  of  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  'at  t'  owd  man  was 
glad,  not  so  much  because  t'  lad  had  come  back,  but 
because  he'd  come  to  hisself,  an'  that's  a  very  deal 
different  thing." 

"  I  don't  see  no  difference,"  said  Jane. 

"  You  will  do  if  you  think  a  minute,  lass.  Suppose 
a  lad  loses  his  senses  an'  runs  away  from  'ome,  an' 
comes  back  one  fine  day  as  mad  as  ever.  There'll  be 
as  much  sorrow  as  joy,  won't  there,  think  ye,  in  that 
'ome  ?  But  suppose  while  he's  away  his  reason  comes 
back  to  'im,  an'  he  gets  cured,  an'  as  soon  as  he's  cured 
he  says  :  '  I  must  go  'ome  to  t'  owd  folks,'  an'  he  goes, 
an'  they  see  'at  he's  in  his  right  mind,  don't  you 
think  they'll  make  merry  an'  be  glad  ?  Wouldn't 
you  ?  " 

"  Our  Joe  didn't  lose  his  senses,"  the  girl  replied 


270  WINDYRIDGE 

sullenly  ;  "he  was  as  clear-headed  then  as  he  is  now. 
It's  a  different  thing  when  they're  mad." 

"  Nay,  lass,"  he  replied,  "  but  unless  I'm  sadly 
mista'en  all  sin  is  a  sort  o'  madness.  You  said  just 
now  'at  Joe  went  wrong.  Now  where  did  he  go  wrong 
— I  mean  what  part  of  'im  ?  " 

Jane  made  no  reply. 

"  You'd  say  he  was  wrong  in  his  'ead  to  have  treated 
his  father  as  he  did,  but  if  'is  'ead  wasn't  wrong  'is 
'eart  was,  an'  that's  a  worse  kind  o'  madness.  Doesn't 
t'  Owd  Book  talk  about  'em  bein'  possessed  wi'  devils  ? 
They  mightn't  be  t'  sort  'at  has  'orns  on,  but  they 
were  t'  sort  'at  tormented  'em  into  wrong-do  in',  an' 
surely  it  was  summat  o'  that  sort  'at  got  hold  o'  your 
Joe.  Now,  if  his  wife  has  brought  him  to  hisself,  an' 
he's  come  'ome  to  say  he's  sorry,  'it  was  meet  to  make 
merry  an'  be  glad.'  ' 

"  It's  hard  on  them  that  don't  go  wrong,"  said  Jane. 

"  Well,  now,  how  is  it  'ard  on  them  ?  "  asked  the 
farmer.  "  Talkin'  quite  straight,  where  does  t'  'ardship 
come  in  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother  doesn't  cry  round  my  neck,  an* 
stroke  my  hands,  an'  make  a  big  fuss,"  replied  the 
girl,  "an'  it's  hard  to  see  her  thinkin'  a  deal  more  o' 
one  'at's  done  her  so  much  wrong." 

"  Now  you  know  better,  Jane.  Your  mother  thinks 
no  more  o'  your  Joe  than  she  does  o'  you,  only,  as  you 
say,  she  makes  more  fuss  of  him  'cos  he's  come  round. 
It  'ud  'a  been  just  t'  same  supposin'  he'd  been  ill  for 
ten  year  an'  then  got  better.  You'd  ha'  made  a  fuss 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL  271 
over  'im  then  as  well  as  your  mother,  an'  you  wouldn't 
ha'  thought  'at  your  mother  loved  'im  more  than 
you,  if  she  did  fuss  over  'im  a  bit.  Now  you  just  look 
at  it  i'  this  way  :  Joe's  been  mad — clean  daft — but 
he's  come  to  hisself,  an'  it's  '  meet  to  make  merry  an' 
be  glad. '  " 

Jane  is  not  at  all  a  bad  sort.  She  gave  a  little  laugh 
as  she  said : 

"  Eh,  Reuben  !  I  never  heard  such  a  man  for  talkin'. 
However,  I  daresay  you're  right,  an'  my  bark's  worse 
than  my  bite,  anyway.  I  was  just  feelin'  full  up  when 
I  came  out,  but  I'm  better  now.  I'll  see  if  I  can 
manage  not  to  be  jealous,  for  we  shan't  have  'im  long. 
He's  in  a  hurry  to  be  back  to  his  precious  wife,  an'  he 
wants  mother  an'  me  to  go  with  him,  but  mother  says 
she'll  have  her  bones  laid  aside  father's,  so  he'll  have 
to  go  by  himself." 

I  took  the  photographs  this  morning,  and  was  pleased 
to  find  that  the  reconciliation  between  brother  and 
sister  was  complete.  In  the  afternoon  I  went  into 
the  graveyard  and  found  some  beautiful  flowers  on 
Farmer  Brown's  grave,  and  a  man  was  taking  measure- 
ments for  a  stone.  He  told  me  that  there  was  to  be 
a  curious  inscription  following  the  usual  particulars, 
and  fumbling  in  his  pocket  he  drew  forth  a  piece  of 
paper  on  which  I  read  these  words  : 
"  A  foolish  son  is  a  grief  to  his  father." 
"  A  good  man  leaveth  an  inheritance  to  his 
children's  children." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    CYNIC    BRINGS    NEWS    OF   GINTY 

IT  is  the  middle  of  October,  and  autumn  is  mani- 
fested on  every  side.  It  makes  me  rather  sad, 
for  bound  up  with  these  marvellous  sunset 
tints  which  ravish  the  eye  there  is  decay  and  death. 
The  woods  are  carpeted  in  russet  and  gold  ;  the  green 
of  the  fields  is  dull  and  faded  ;  every  breath  of  wind 
helps  to  strip  the  trees  a  little  barer  ;  and  as  though 
Nature  could  not,  unaided,  work  destruction  fast 
enough,  the  hand  of  man  is  stretched  forth  to  strip  the 
glowing  bracken  from  the  moors,  and  great  gaps  on 
the  hillsides  tell  of  his  handiwork. 

I  know,  of  course,  that  Nature  is  kindly  and  bene 
ficent,  and  that  death  in  this  connection  is  a  misnomer. 
I  know  that  after  the  falling  leaf  and  the  bare  branch 
and  twig  there  will  come  the  glory  of  spring,  the  glory 
of  bursting  bud  and  fragrant  flower ;  but  though  that 
mitigates  the  feeling  of  sadness  it  does  not  entirely 
dispel  it.  The  flowers  and  the  foliage,  the  heather 
and  the  bracken  have  been  my  companions  during 
these  sunny  days  of  summer,  and  it.  is  hard  to  lose 
them,  though  only  for  a  while. 

And  when  I  look  on  dear  old  Mother  Hubbard,  as 
she  sits  quietly  by  the  fire,  with  her  needles  clicking 
ever  more  slowly,  and  the  calm  of  a  peaceful  eventide 


CYNIC  BRINGS  NEWS  OF  GINTY  273 
deepening  upon  her  face,  my  heart  sinks  within  me, 
and  I  dare  not  look  forward  to  the  wintry  months  that 
lie  ahead.  What  Windyridge  will  be  to  me  when  her 
sun  sinks  behind  the  hill  I  will  not  try  to  realise.  I 
attempt  to  be  cheerful,  but  my  words  mock  me  and 
my  laugh  rings  hollow,  and  she,  good  soul,  reads  me 
through  and  through.  I  know  I  do  not  deceive  her, 
and  my  Inner  Self  warns  me  that  one  of  these  days 
the  motherkin  will  have  it  out  with  me  and  make  me 
face  realities,  and  I  stand  in  dread  of  that  hour. 

The  squire,  on  the  other  hand,  looks  far  better  than 
when  he  came  home.  He  is  still  feeble,  and  he  has  his 
bad  days,  but  the  light  in  his  eyes  is  not  the  light  of 
sunset.  Dr.  Trempest  means  to  be  convincing,  though 
he  is  merely  vague  when  he  assures  the  squire  that  he 
will  "  outlive  some  of  us  yet."  I  am  glad  he  is  better, 
for  I  cannot  be  with  him  as  much  as  I  should  if  Mother 
Hubbard  did  not  claim  my  devotion. 

I  had  tea  with  him  and  the  Cynic  on  Sunday  after- 
noon when  some  of  her  chapel  friends  were  keeping 
Mother  Hubbard  company. 

The  Cynic  was  in  the  garden  when  I  reached  the 
Hall,  and  he  told  me  that  the  squire  was  asleep  in  the 
library,  so  we  drew  two  deck-chairs  into  the  sunshine 
and  sat  down  for  an  hour  on  the  lawn. 

He  lit  a  cigarette,  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head, 
and  began  : 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  will  want  to  know  what  is 
being  done  in  the  City  of  Destruction  from  which  you 
fled  so  precipitately.  I  have  not  noticed  any  tendency 


274  WINDYRIDGE 

on  your  part  to  stop  your  ears  to  its  sounds,  though 
you  may  not  hanker  after  its  fleshpots." 

"  Do  not  be  horrid,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  if  you  are 
going  to  be  cynical  I  will  go  in  and  chat  with  the 
housekeeper.  I  am  not  particularly  anxious  to  know 
what  is  happening  in  your  City  of  Destruction." 

He  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "  Miss  Fleming,  for 
instance  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  of  Rose.  I 
always  am.  And  that  reminds  me  that  her  letters 
are  few  and  unsatisfactory.  Have  you  seen  anything 
of  her  since  the  holidays  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  we  have  met  several  times  ; 
once  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend,  once  at  Olympia, 
and  I  believe  twice  at  the  theatre.'1 

"  Do  people  '  meet  '  at  the  theatre  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  They  do  if  they  arrange  to  do  so,  and  keep  their 
appointments,"  he  replied  pro vo kingly.  "  I  am  for- 
tunate in  being  acquainted  with  some  of  Miss  Fleming's 
friends.  I  am  sorry  her  letters  leave  something  to  be 
desired,  but  you  need  not  be  uneasy  ;  she  herself  is 
as  lively  and  fascinating  as  ever." 

I  should  have  liked  to  ask  him  who  the  friends  were, 
for  Rose  has  never  mentioned  them,  and  she  had  none 
who  could  possibly  have  been  in  the  Cynic's  set  in  the 
old  days  ;  but  friends  can  generally  be  found  when 
the  occasion  demands  them.  I  said  nothing,  of  course, 
and  he  looked  at  me  quizzically. 

"  Your  comments,"  he  remarked,  "  if  I  may  quote, 
are  '  few  and  unsatisfactory.'  " 


CYNIC  BRINGS  NEWS  OF  GINTY     275 

It  was  true,  but  he  need  not  have  noticed  it.  The 
fact  is,  I  had  nothing  to  say  at  the  moment.  That 
being  the  case  there  was  plainly  nothing  for  it  but  to 
abuse  him. 

"  You  are  the  Cynic  to-day,"  I  said,  "  and  I  foresee 
that  you  are  going  to  sharpen  your  wit  upon  poor  me. 
But  I  am  not  in  the  mood.  You  see,  it  is  Sunday,  and 
in  Windyridge  we  are  subdued  and  not  brilliant  on 
Sundays." 

Perhaps  his  ear  caught  the  weariness  in  my  voice, 
for  I  was  feeling  tired  and  depressed  ;  at  any  rate  his 
tone  changed  immediately. 

"  I  saw  at  once  you  were  off  colour,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  was  making  a  clumsy  attempt  to  buck  you  up  ;  but, 
seriously,  have  you  no  questions  you  wish  to  ask  me 
about  the  old  place  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  matters  are  progressing 
with  you,"  I  said.  "  I  often  wonder  what  the  world 
thinks  of  your  renunciation." 

"  The  world  knows  nothing  of  it.  I  have  never 
mentioned  what  I  have  done  to  anyone  but  you,  and 
I  do  not  propose  to  do  so.  As  for  myself — but  what 
makes  you  wonder  ?  Are  you  afraid  I  may  have 
repented  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  you  will  never  repent,  you  are 
not  that  sort.  Not  for  one  moment  have  I  doubted 
your  steadfastness." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  simply  ;  and  then,  after  a 
moment's  pause  : 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  anything  to  my  credit.     If 


276  WINDYRIDGE 

I  had  been  differently  constituted  the  sacrifice  would 
have  entailed  suffering,  even  if  it  had  not  proved  too 
great  for  me.  It  was  a  lot  of  money,  and  if  money  is 
in  any  sense  a  man's  god  it  must  hurt  him  to  lose  so 
much.  My  god  may  be  equally  base,  but  it  is  not  golden. 
In  that  respect  I  am  like  those  ancient  Athenians  of 
whom  Plato  speaks,  who  '  bare  lightly  the  burden  of 
gold  and  of  possessions/  though  I  fear  I  am  not  like 
them  in  despising  all  things  except  virtue.  Besides,  even 
now  I  am  not  exactly  poor,  for  I  have  a  good  income." 

"  I  have  thirty  shillings  a  week  on  the  average,"  I 
interposed,  "  and  I  consider  myself  quite  well  to  do." 

"  Exactly,"  he  replied ;  "  you  and  I  take  pleasure  in 
our  work  for  its  own  sake,  and  we  are  each  paid,  I 
suppose,  fair  value  for  what  we  do.  Having  food  and 
clothing  and  a  roof  to  shelter  us  we  have  all  that  is 
necessary,  but  we  have  luxuries  thrown  in — true  friend- 
ships, for  instance,  which  money  cannot  purchase.  In 
my  own  case  I  am  hoping  to  be  quite  wealthy  if  things 
turn  out  as  I  am  beginning  to  dare  to  expect." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  I  said  ;  "  I  am  sure  you 
deserve  to  succeed,  and  I  trust  you  will  be  very  happy 
in  the  possession  of  wealth  when  your  expectation  is 
realised." 

He  laughed,  but  with  some  constraint,  I  thought, 
and  then  said  : 

"  We  shall  have  to  go  in  presently,  Miss  Holden,  and 
before  we  do  so,  and  whilst  we  are  not  likely  to  be 
interrupted,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  which  I 
find  it  difficult  to  mention." 


CYNIC  BRINGS  NEWS  OF  GINTY     277 

I  believe  the  colour  left  my  face,  and  I  know  my 
stupid  heart  lost  control  of  its  beats  again.  His  voice 
was  so  grave  that  I  felt  sure  he  had  some  communi- 
cation to  make  which  I  should  not  relish,  though  I 
could  not  guess  at  its  nature.  I  controlled  myself 
with  an  effort,  and  encouraged  him  to  proceed  with 
an  inquiring  "  Oh  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  his  boots  for  a  moment  and  then 
continued  : 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  this  I  should  not  have 
come  here  this  week-end,  but  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
what  I  have  done,  and  to  give  you  a  message  from 
one  in  whom  you  are  interested.  I  have  hesitated 
because  I  fear  it  may  give  you  pain,  though  in  one 
way  it  does  not  concern  you  in  the  slightest  degree." 

Why  anything  should  give  me  pain  which  did  not 
concern  me  was  puzzling,  and  I  wished  the  man  would 
get  to  the  story  and  skip  the  introduction.  I  never 
could  bear  to  have  news  "  broken  gently  "  to  me, 
it  always  seems  like  a  mere  prolongation  of  the  agony  ; 
but  I  did  not  dare  to  interrupt. 

"  I  had  to  be  in  attendance  at  the  Central  Criminal 
Court  last  Tuesday,"  he  continued  ;  "  and  the  case  in 
which  I  was  interested  was  delayed  by  one  in  which 
the  prisoner  on  trial  was  a  young  fellow  whom  you 
know." 

It  was  very  silly  of  me,  but  the  revulsion  of  feeling 
was  so  great  that  I  nearly  cried,  though  goodness  only 
knows  what  I  had  been  expecting.  The  Cynic  saw 
my  emotion  and  mistook  it  for  sympathy. 


278  WINDYRIDGE 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  trouble  you,"  he  said, 
kindly,  "  but  you  must  not  worry  about  it. 

"  The  charge  was  quite  an  ordinary  one  and  I  had 
scarcely  listened  to  the  case  at  all,  for  my  mind  was 
occupied  with  what  was  to  follow,  but  I  heard  sufficient 
to  know  that  the  man  was  one  of  a  gang  of  sharpers, 
and  that  he  had  been  caught  red-handed  whilst  his 
companions  had  escaped.  He  had  no  one  to  defend 
him,  but  the  judge  nominated  a  junior  who  was  present 
to  be  his  counsel,  and  the  lad  did  his  best  for  him.  But 
the  youth  had  been  in  trouble  before,  and  it  was  likely 
to  go  hard  with  him.  All  at  once  my  neighbour 
nudged  me  :  '  He's  meaning  you,  Derwent,'  he  said. 

"  '  What's  that  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  I  have  just  asked  the  prisoner  if  he  has  anyone 
who  can  speak  to  his  character,  and  he  says  you  know 
him  slightly,'  said  the  recorder  with  a  smile. 

"  '  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  I  never  saw  the 
man  in  my  life  before,'  I  replied. 

"  '  Yes,  you  have,  Mr.  Derwent,'  the  prisoner  said 
in  a  low  voice — and  you  will  understand  what  silence 
there  was  in  the  court — '  you  have  seen  me  working 
at  Windyridge  'All,  sir,  afore  I  sank  to  this.  You 
remember,  sir,  I  was  allus  known  as  Ginty." 

I  started,  and  the  Cynic  continued  :  "I  looked  at 
him  closely  then,  and  saw  that  it  was  indeed  he, 
Ginty,  ten  years  older  than  he  was  a  year  ago  :  haggard, 
seamed  with  lines  of  care,  unkempt,  but,  unless  I  am 
mistaken,  not  altogether  hardened. 

"  I  turned  to  the  recorder.     '  I  do  know  the  prisoner, 


CYNIC  BRINGS  NEWS  OF  GINTY  279 
sir,'  I  said,  '  but  I  did  not  recognise  him,  and  therefore 
I  have  not  paid  attention  to  the  case  ;  '  and  as  briefly 
as  I  could  I  told  the  court  how  he  had  been  led  astray. 
It  was  you,  Miss  Holden,  who  described  it  all  so  graphi- 
cally, you  may  remember,  and  I  repeated  the  story  as 
you  told  it,  and  I  pleaded  hard  for  the  young  chap. 
He  got  off  with  three  months,  which  was  less  than 
might  have  been  expected." 

"  Poor  Ginty  !  "  I  interrupted.  "  I  wonder  if  his 
mother  will  hear  of  it.  I  suppose  news  of  that  kind 
rarely  niters  through  the  walls  of  a  workhouse  ?  " 

"  No  walls  are  impervious  to  bad  news,"  he  replied, 
"  but  Ginty's  concern  was  less  for  his  mother  than 
for  his  sweetheart,  Sarah  Ann.  At  bottom  I  believe 
Ginty  is  penitent,  and  would  like  to  break  with  the 
rogues  who  have  led  him  on  ;  but  the  poor  beggar 
is  weak-willed,  and  the  easy  prey  of  his  blustering 
companions.  I  managed  to  get  an  interview  with 
him,  and  he  wished  me  to  ask  you  to  tell  the  girl  every- 
thing, and  to  beg  her  to  pity  and  forgive  him  ;  and  he 
promises  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  will  marry  her 
eventually  if  she  is  willing." 

"  Sarah  Ann  must  not  be  told  at  present,"  I  replied  ; 
"  she  is  far  from  well,  and  the  shock  might  be  too  much 
for  her.  She  is  a  highly  emotional  girl,  who  would 
go  into  violent  hysterics  incontinently." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  can  leave  the  matter  to  your 
discretion.  I  have  fulfilled  my  promise,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  do  what  is  best.  Would  it  be  possible 
to  tell  the  girl's  mother  ? — if  she  has  a  mother." 


280  WINDYRIDGE 

"  She  has  a  mother,"  I  answered,  "  but  she  is  a  woman 
entirely  destitute  of  tact.  To  tell  her  would  be  to 
publish  the  news  to  the  whole  village,  and  to  have  it 
conveyed  to  Sarah  Ann  in  the  crudest  manner  con- 
ceivable. I  think  it  will  be  best  to  hold  back  the 
message  until  I  have  a  fitting  opportunity  of  delivering 
it  to  the  girl  herself.  But  believe  me,  the  present  time 
is  most  inopportune." 

"  I  do  believe  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  suppose  it  is 
hardly  likely  that  information  will  reach  the  village 
in  any  other  way.  '  HI  news  flies  fast,'  but  the  case 
was  too  insignificant  to  be  reported  in  the  provincial 
papers.  Anyhow,  we  must  take  the  risk,  and  you 
can  deliver  your  soul  of  the  message  when  you  think 
fit.  I  am  sorry  to  have  laid  this  burden  upon  you." 

"  I  accept  it  willingly,"  I  said,  "  and  am  glad  that 
I  can  be  of  service  to  these  poor  young  folk." 

I  had  a  pleasant  evening  with  the  squire  and  the 
Cynic,  both  of  whom  were  at  their  best  in  discussing 
disendowments,  in  regard  to  which  they  held  opposite 
views.  The  squire  showed  the  possession  of  a  wealth 
of  knowledge  which  aroused  my  admiration,  and  he 
was  so  courteous  in  argument,  so  magnanimous  and 
altogether  gentlemanly,  that  I  could  have  hugged  him 
for  very  pride  ;  but  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  think 
the  Cynic  had  the  best  of  it.  He  is  just  as  generous 
and  courtly  as  the  squire,  and  he  is  absolutely  sure  of 
his  facts  and  figures  ;  but  when  he  does  corner  his 
opponent  he  does  not  gloat  over  him.  In  my  judg- 


CYNIC  BRINGS  NEWS  OF  GINTY  281 
ment — and  I  am  sure  I  am  impartial,  for  I  like  them 
both  so  much — he  was  more  convincing  than  the 
squire  ;  but  then  I  don't  think  I  ever  met  a  more  con- 
vincing speaker.  Of  course  I  have  met  very  few 
good  speakers,  but  I  doubt  if  there  are  many  to  surpass 
Mr.  Derwent. 

He  took  me  home  about  ten  o'clock,  and  I  saw  that 
the  village  had  got  some  new  excitement,  but  the 
Cynic's  presence  barred  me  from  participating  in  it. 
At  the  cottage,  however,  I  learned  everything,  for  a 
gossip  had,  as  usual,  hastened  to  tell  Mother  Hubbard 
the  news,  and  she  was  still  discussing  it  on  my  arrival, 
though  my  invalid  ought  to  have  been  in  bed. 

Nobody  in  Windyridge  takes  a  Sunday  newspaper, 
but  a  visitor  from  Airlee  had  left  a  News  of  the  World 
at  Smiddles's,  and  after  his  departure  Smiddles  had 
glanced  down  its  columns  and  found  a  report  of 
Ginty's  trial  and  sentence.  Mrs.  Smiddles,  bursting 
with  importance,  hurried  off  to  impart  the  information 
to  Sar'- Ann's  mother.  Sar'- Ann's  mother,  as  might  have 
been  anticipated,  had  expressed  her  opinion  of  Ginty's 
moral  character  in  loud  and  emphatic  language  which 
echoed  round  the  village  and  awakened  a  like  response. 

I  closed  the  door  wearily  on  the  woman  and  went  to 
bed,  for  it  was  too  late  to  see  Sar '-Ann  that  night.  I 
wish  I  had  made  the  endeavour  now,  for  with  the 
morning  there  came  news  that  distressed  me  terribly. 
Sar '-Ann's  baby  had  been  born  at  midnight,  and 
poor  Sar '-Ann  was  dead  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MOTHER    HUBBARD    HEARS   THE   CALL 

THE  world  is  very  drab  to-day,  as  I  look  out 
of  my  bedroom  window  at  the  Hall  and 
once  more  open  the  book  in  which  I  set  down 
the  experiences  of  my  pilgrimage.  I  am  living  in  luxury 
again,  a  luxury  which  has,  alas  !  more  of  permanency 
in  it  than  before.  The  little  room  in  which  I  am  writing 
is  charming  in  the  daintiness  of  its  colouring  and  the 
simplicity  of  its  furnishings.  There  is  just  a  suspicion 
of  pink  in  the  creamy  wallpaper,  and  the  deeper  cream 
of  the  woodwork.  The  bed,  like  the  dressing-table 
and  the  chairs,  is  in  satinwood,  beautifully  inlaid, 
and  the  wardrobe  is  an  enormous  cavern  in  the  wall, 
with  mirrored  doors  behind  which  my  few  belongings 
hang  suspended  like  ghostly  stalactites.  The  floor  is 
nearly  covered  with  a  Wilton  rug,  and  the  rest  of  it 
is  polished  until  it  looks  like  glass.  A  few  choice 
etchings  and  engravings  hang  upon  the  walls — Elaine 
dreaming  of  Lancelot,  Dante  bending  over  the  dead 
body  of  Beatrice,  Helen  of  Troy,  and  similar  sub- 
jects, with  two  of  Leader's  landscapes.  The  counter- 
pane gleams,  snowy  white,  beneath  the  lovely  satin 
eider-down,  which  gives  a  splash  of  colour  to  the  room  ; 
and  the  room  is  mine  ! 

Mine  !     Yes,   but  the  world  is  very  drab  all  the 


MOTHER   HUBBARD'S   CALL     283 

same.  The  sky  is  grey  to  its  farthest  limits — an  unre- 
lieved greyness  which  presses  upon  one's  spirits.  The 
landscape  is  grey,  with  no  solitary  touch  of  brightness 
in  it  until  you  come  to  the  lawn  in  front  of  my  window, 
where  there  is  a  gorgeous  display  of  chrysanthemums. 
The  cawing  of  the  rooks  is  a  shade  more  mournful  than 
usual,  and  the  grey  smoke  from  the  stacks  above  my 
head  floats  languidly  on  the  heavy  air. 

And  for  the  moment  I  would  have  it  so,  for  it  har- 
monises with  my  mood  and  gives  me  the  inspiration 
I  need  in  order  to  write  down  the  occurrences  of  these 
later  days.  It  is  not  that  I  am  morbid  or  downcast  ; 
I  am  sad,  but  not  depressed  ;  the  outlook  is  not  black 
— it  is  just  drab. 

I  suppose  if  anyone  were  to  read  what  I  have  written 
thus  far  they  would  guess  the  truth — that  my  dear 
old  Mother  Hubbard  has  been  taken  from  me.  We 
laid  her  to  rest  a  week  ago  in  the  little  plot  of  ground 
which  must  ever  henceforward  be  very  dear  to  me, 
and  my  heart  hungers  for  the  sound  of  her  voice  and 
the  sight  of  her  kindly  face.  But  I  cannot  doubt  that 
for  her  it  is  "  far  better,"  so  I  will  not  stoop  to  self- 
pity. 

And,  after  all,  there  is  not  a  streak  of  grey  in  the 
picture  I  have  to  reproduce.  As  I  live  over  again  those 
few  last  days  of  companionship  I  feel  the  curtains  to 
be  drawn  back  from  the  windows  of  my  soul ;  I  ex- 
perience the  freshness  of  a  heaven-born  zephyr.  I 
find  myself  smiling  as  one  only  smiles  when  memory 
is  pleasing  and  there  is  deep  content,  and  I  say  to 


284  WINDYRIDGE 

myself :  "  Thank  God,  it  was  indeed '  sunset  and  evening 
star  '  and  there  was  no  '  moaning  of  the  bar  '  when  the 
spirit  of  the  gentle  mother  kin  '  put  out  to  sea,'  and  she 
went  forth  to  meet  her  '  Pilot  face  to  face.' ' 

I  think  the  shock  of  Sar '-Ann's  death  upset  her,  for, 
like  her  Master,  she  was  easily  touched  with  the  feeling 
of  other  people's  infirmities,  and  though  outwardly 
she  was  unexcited  I  knew  that  the  deeps  within  her 
were  stirred. 

We  always  slept  together  now,  for  I  was  uneasy 
when  I  was  not  with  her.  For  months  past  my  cottage 
had  been  rarely  used  except  as  a  bedroom,  but  now  I 
abandoned  it  altogether  and  had  my  bed  brought 
into  Mother  Hubbard's  cottage  and  placed  in  the  living- 
room,  quite  near  to  her  own,  so  that  I  could  hear  her 
breathing.  Far  into  the  night  I  would  lie  awake  and 
watch  the  dying  embers  on  the  hearth,  and  the  lights 
growing  fainter  upon  the  walls,  and  listen  for  any  sound 
of  change. 

Each  morning  she  rose  at  the  same  hour,  dressed 
with  the  same  care,  and  sought  to  follow  the  old, 
familiar  routine  ;  but  she  did  not  demur  when  I  placed 
her  in  her  chair  and  assumed  the  air  and  authority 
of  commander-in-chief. 

"  I  must  work  while  it  is  day,  love,"  she  said,  smiling 
up  at  me  in  the  way  which  always  provoked  a  caress. 

"  Martha,  Martha,"  I  always  replied,  "  thou  art 
anxious  and  troubled  about  many  things  :  but  one 
thing  is  needful,  and  that  in  your  case  is  rest." 

She  drew  my  head  on  to  her  breast  one  day  as  I 


MOTHER  HUBBARD'S  CALL  285 
said  this  for  the  hundredth  time — I  had  knelt  down 
upon  the  rug,  and  mockingly  held  her  prisoner — and 
she  said  very,  very  softly  : 

"  Grace  love,  I  am  going  to  give  in.  The  voice 
within  tells  me  you  are  right,  and  I  do  not  fret.  '  In 
quietness  and  in  confidence  shall  be  your  strength.'  It 
is  because  I  am  so  strong  in  spirit  that  I  do  not  recog- 
nise how  weak  I  am  in  body ;  but  I  think,  love,  I  am 
beginning  to  realise  it  now.  And  as  I  have  you  to  look 
after  me  I  have  much  to  thank  God  for.  Do  you  know, 
Grace  love,  I  am  sure  the  Lord  sent  you  to  Windyridge 
for  my  sake.  It  is  wonderful  how  He  makes  things 
work  together  for  the  good  of  many.  He  knew  this 
poor  old  Martha  would  soon  need  somebody  to  pet 
her  and  look  after  her,  so  he  sent  you  to  be  an  angel 
of  comfort." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  as  cheerfully  as  I  could  with  my 
spirits  in  chains,  "  He  has  paid  me  good  wages,  and 
I  have  a  royal  reward.  Why,  my  own  cup  is  filled 
to  overflowing,  '  good  measure,  pressed  down,  running 
over  ' — isn't  that  the  correct  quotation  ?  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  these  twelve  months  of  Mother-Hub- 
bardism  for  a  king's  ransom." 

She  pressed  my  head  still  more  closely  to  her. 
"  Are  you  very  busy  this  morning,  love  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  I  feel  that  I  can  talk  to  you  just  now  if  you  have 
time  to  listen,  and  it  will  do  me  good  to  speak." 

It  had  come  at  last,  and  I  braced  myself  to  meet 
it.  "  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  me,  mother  kin  ? 
Speak  on.  I  am  very  comfy,  and  my  work  will  wait." 


286  WINDYRIDGE 

"  Yes,  love,"  she  said — and  it  was  so  unlike  her  to 
acquiesce  so  readily  that  my  heart  grew  heavier  still — 
"  work  can  wait,  but  the  tide  of  life  waits  for  no  man, 
and  there  is  something  I  want  to  say  before  the  flood 
bears  me  away." 

"  Are  you  feeling  worse,  dear  ?  "  I  asked  ;  "  would 
you  like  me  to  ask  Dr.  Trempest  to  call  ?  I  can  tele- 
phone from  the  Hall." 

"No,  love,"  the  gentle  voice  replied,  "  I  am  past  his 
aid.  I  shall  slip  away  some  day  without  pain  ;  that 
is  borne  in  upon  me,  and  I  am  thankful,  for  your  sake 
as  well  as  for  my  own.  The  doctor  will  just  call  to 
see  me  in  the  usual  way,  but  you  will  not  have  to  send 
for  him.  No  ;  I  just  want  to  discuss  one  or  two  things 
with  you,  love,  whilst  my  mind  is  clear  and  my  strength 
sufficient.  And  you  are  going  to  be  my  own  cheerful, 
business-like  Grace,  aren't  you,  love  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  swallowing  my  lump,  and  summoning 
my  resources. 

"  Well,  now,  love,  I  want  to  make  my  will,  and  you 
shall  do  it  for  me  when  we  have  talked  about  it.  I 
have  neither  chick  nor  child,  and  if  I  have  relatives 
I  don't  know  them,  and  once  over  I  thought  of  leaving 
all  I  have  to  you,  love,  for  you  have  been  more  than  a 
daughter  to  me ;  but  after  thinking  it  over  I  am  not 
going  to  do  so." 

"  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  it,  dear,"  I  said, 
"  but  I  really  do  not  need  it,  and  I  am  glad  you  have 
changed  your  mind.  Tell  me." 

She  stroked  my  face  with  a  slow,  patting  movement 


MOTHER  HUBBARD'S  CALL  287 
as  she  continued  :  '  You  won't  need  it,  love.  You 
have  a  little  of  your  own,  and  you  are  young  and  can 
work  ;  but  I  would  have  added  my  little  to  yours 
if  that  had  been  all,  but  I  know  you  will  not  need  it, 
and  I  am  glad.  But  you  will  like  to  have  something 
which  I  have  valued,  and  you  shall  have  whatever 
I  hold  most  dear." 

She  paused  a  moment  or  two,  but  I  knew  she  would 
not  wish  me  to  speak  just  then. 

"  There  are  three  things,  love,  which  are  very  precious 
to  me,"  she  continued  ;  "  one  is  the  ring  which 
Matthew  gave  me  when  he  asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  I 
have  never  worn  it  since  he  died,  but  it  is  in  the  little 
silver  box  in  my  cap  drawer.  I  want  you  to  wear  it, 
love,  in  remembrance  of  me.  Then  there  is  the  little 
box  itself.  Besides  the  ring,  it  contains  my  class  tickets 
— tickets  of  membership,  you  know,  love  ;  I  have  them 
all  from  the  very  first,  and  Matthew  bought  the  little 
box  for  me  to  put  them  in,  and  he  called  it  my  '  Ark.' 
I  am  so  pleased  to  think  that  you  will  have  it,  but  I 
would  like  the  tickets  to  be  buried  with  me." 

She  broke  off  and  laughed.  "  That  sounds  silly, 
love,  doesn't  it  ?  It  looks  as  if  I  thought  the  tickets 
would  help  me  to  the  next  world ;  but,  of  course,  I 
didn't  mean  that.  They  are  just  bits  of  printed  paper, 
but  I  don't  want  them  to  be  burned  or  thrown  into 
the  rubbish  heap,  that's  all. 

"  Last  and  dearest  of  all,  there's  my  Bible.  It 
wouldn't  fetch  a  penny  anywhere,  for  it's  old  and 
yellow  and  thumbed,  and  the  back  is  loose;  but  its 


288  WINDYRIDGE 

value  to  me,  love,  is  just  priceless,  and  I  should  hardly 
die  happy  unless  someone  had  it  who  would  love  it 
too.  Now  that's  your  share." 

I  drew  her  hand  to  my  lips  and  kissed  it  ;  she  knew 
what  I  was  feeling. 

"  Give  Reuben  the  old  grandfather's  clock.  It  is 
oak  and  will  match  his  furniture,  and  he  can  give  his 
mahogany  one  to  Ben.  Reuben  has  always  admired 
the  clock,  and  he  will  be  pleased  I  remembered  him. 
Let  my  clothes  go  to  any  of  the  neighbours  who  are 
poor  and  need  them.  And  the  lamp  which  his  scholars 
gave  Matthew  when  his  health  failed  and  he  had  to 
give  up  teaching " 

She  paused,  and  I  held  my  peace.  It  was  a  chaste 
and  artistic  production  in  brass,  which  had  always 
seemed  to  me  rather  out  of  place  amid  its  homely 
surroundings,  and  I  should  not  have  been  sorry  if  it  had 
been  amongst  the  treasures  to  be  bequeathed  to  me  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  dear,"  I  said  at  length,  "  the  lamp  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  ask  Mr.  Derwent,  love,  to  accept  the 
lamp.  He  admired  it  very  much,  and  he  has  been  so 
very  nice  to  me  ;  and  give  him  the  china,  too. 

"  You  will  not  live  here  alone,  Grace,  when  I  am 
gone.  Mr.  Evans  will  want  you,  and  you  will  not 
have  to  deny  him  then  as  you  have  done  previously 
for  my  sake.  These  old  eyes  have  seen  more,  love, 
than  you  have  realised,  and  I  am  very  grateful.  The 
Lord  bless  you  ! 

"  Both  the  cottages  are  mine.  I  bought  this  one 
when  Matthew  died,  and  Reuben  sold  me  the  other 


MOTHER  HUBBARD'S  CALL   289 

one,  just  as  it  stands,  whilst  you  were  away,  and  we 
arranged  to  keep  it  a  secret  for  a  while.  Then  there 
will  be  about  £1,500  in  the  bank  and  Building  Society 
when  everything  has  been  paid.  I  have  thought  a 
great  deal  about  what  to  do  with  it,  and  I  am  going  to 
leave  both  the  cottages,  with  all  the  furniture,  for  the 
use  of  poor  widows  who  otherwise  might  have  to  go 
to  the  workhouse ;  and  the  interest  on  the  money  will 
keep  them  from  want. 

"  I  haven't  much  head  for  business,  but  a  lawyer 
will  work  it  out  all  right.  You  see,  love,  I  was  left 
comfortably  off  by  Matthew,  and  I  think  the  Lord 
would  like  me  to  remember  that  all  widows  are  not  so 
fortunate  ;  and  I  don't  want  to  forget  that  it  is  His 
money  I  have  to  dispose  of." 

The  tears  came  into  my  eyes  now  and  I  could  not 
speak.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly  outside,  but 
within  that  humble  room  there  was  a  radiance  that 
outshone  that  of  the  sun,  even  the  reflected  splendour 
of  heaven. 

After  a  while  she  continued :  "I  want  you  and 
Reuben  to  decide  who  are  to  live  in  the  cottages,  but 
I  should  like  Ginty's  mother  to  have  the  first  offer, 
love,  and  I  think  she  will  not  refuse  for  my  sake  ; 
and  you  must  arrange  about  the  other.  You  will  see 
Lawyer  Simpson  in  Fawkshill,  love,  and  tell  him  all 
this.  Go  this  afternoon,  for  I  shall  be  restless  now 
until  all  is  done.  And  now  let  me  tell  you  what  no 
lawyer  need  know." 

Again  she  rested  for  a  while  and  then  continued  : 


2go  WINDYRIDGE 

"  They  are  sure  to  want  a  service  at  the  chapel,  for  I 
am  the  oldest  member,  and  a  class  leader.  But  I 
do  so  dislike  doleful  singing,  so  I  have  been  thinking 
it  over  and  I  have  put  down  on  a  paper  which  you  will 
find  in  my  Bible  the  hymns  which  I  should  like  to  have 
sung.  Ask  them  to  sing  first  '  My  God,  the  spring  of 
all  my  joys,'  to  the  tune  of  '  Lydia.'  You  won't  know 
the  tune,  love,  for  it  is  a  very  old-fashioned  one,  but 
I  have  always  liked  it,  and  it  goes  with  a  rare  swing. 
Then  I  must  have  '  Jesu,  Lover  of  my  soul '  to  '  Hol- 
lingside,'  for  that  is  the  hymn  of  my  experience  ;  and 
to  conclude  with  let  them  sing  a  child's  hymn.  I'm 
afraid  you  will  laugh  at  me,  Grace,  but  I  would  like 
to  have  '  There  is  a  better  world,  they  say.'  I  think 
these  will  be  sufficient,  and  they  are  all  very  cheerful 
hymns  and  tunes." 

"  And  the  minister  ?  "  I  asked,  for  her  calmness  was 
infectious. 

"  Oh,  either  of  them,  love,"  she  said  ;  "  they  are 
both  good  men,  and  they  must  arrange  to  suit  their 
own  convenience.  Now  give  me  a  kiss.  I  am  so  glad 
to  have  got  this  done,  and  though  I  am  tired  I  feel 
ever  so  much  better." 

I  saw  the  lawyer  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  called  with 
the  draft  on  the  following  day,  and  by  the  next  it  had 
been  signed,  witnessed  and  completed. 

Mother  Hubbard  did  not  go  to  chapel  on  the  Sunday, 
but  on  the  Thursday  she  expressed  her  fixed  deter- 
mination to  take  her  class.  I  protested  in  vain  :  the 
motherkin  had  made  up  her  mind. 


MOTHER   HUBBARD'S   CALL     291 

"  I  must,  love ;  it  is  laid  upon  me,  and  I  am  not  at 
all  excited." 

"  But,  dear,"  I  urged,  "  I  shall  worry  terribly  whilst 
you  are  out  of  my  care.  You  are  not  fit  to  go — you 
are  not  strong  enough." 

"It  is  only  a  step,  love,"  she  replied,  "  and  the 
evening  is  warm  ;  why  need  you  worry  when  you  can 
come  with  me  ?  " 

She  had  never  suggested  this  before — indeed,  when 
I  had  laughingly  suggested  it  she  had  been  visibly 
alarmed,  and  I  admit  that  the  idea  was  not  attractive. 
Somehow  or  other  I  distrusted  the  Methodist  class 
meeting.  But  my  love  for  the  class  leader  prevailed. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  ;   "  if  you  go,  I  go  too." 

We  went  together  and  found  eight  or  nine  women 
of  various  ages  assembled  in  the  little  vestry.  Mother 
Hubbard  took  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  I  sat  next  to 
Widow  Smithies,  who  moved  up  to  make  room  for  me. 

We  sang  a  hymn,  and  then  Mother  Hubbard  prayed 
— prayed  in  a  gentle  voice  which  had  much  humility 
in  it,  but  an  assured  confidence  which  showed  her  to 
be  on  intimate  terms  with  her  Lord  ;  and  when  she 
had  finished  I  read  the  iO3rd  Psalm  at  her  request, 
and  we  sang  again. 

Then  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  gathered  strength  as 
she  proceeded.  I  cannot  write  down  all  she  said,  but 
some  of  the  sentences  are  burned  into  my.  memory, 
though  the  connections  have  escaped  me. 

"  We  will  not  have  an  experience  meeting  to-night, 
my  fiiends,  because  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  and  God 


292  WINDYRIDGE 

has  given  me  strength  to  do  so.  I  am  weak  in  body, 
but  my  spirit  was  never  stronger.  It  is  the  spirit 
which  is  the  real  life,  so  I  was  never  more  alive.  I 
have  thought  a  good  deal  lately  on  those  words  : 

"  '  Even  the  youths  shall  faint  and  be  weary,  and 
the  young  men  shall  utterly  fall.  But  they  that  wait 
upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their  strength  :  they  shall 
mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles  ;  they  shall  run  and 
not  be  weary  ;  they  shall  walk  and  not  faint.' 

"  '  They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  '  shall  do  this. 
Not  just  the  strong  and  powerful,  but  poor,  weak  old 
women  like  me  ;  aye,  those  weaker  still  who  are 
helpless  on  sick-beds  ;  the  paralysed  and  lame  who 
cannot  walk  at  all— all  theseshall  'renew  their  strength.' 
They  are  unable  even  to  totter  to  the  old  pew  in  the 
house  of  God,  so  weak  and  shaky  is  their  poor,  human 
frame  ;  aye,  but  they  shall  '  mount  up  with  wings  as 
eagles.'  The  eagle  is  a  strong  bird  ;  it  makes  its  nest 
on  the  cliffs  of  high  mountains,  it  soars  up  and  up 
into  the  clouds,  and  it  can  carry  sheep  in  its  talons, 
so  great  is  its  strength.  And,  do  you  realise  it  ? 
they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  are  like  that.  Weak 
and  worn  out  in  body,  but 

"  '  Strong  in  the  strength  which  God  supplies 
Through  His  Eternal  Son.' 

"  My  friends,  I  thank  God  that  in  that  sense  I  am 
strong  to-night  ;  and  do  you  think  that  when  I  am 
so  strong  I  am  going  to  die  ?  Never  !  Life  is  going 
to  be  fuller,  richer,  more  abundant." 

I  gazed  upon  Mother  Hubbard  in  astonishment. 


MOTHER    HUBBARD'S     CALL    293 

She  was  not  excited,  but  she  was  exalted.  No  earthly 
light  was  in  her  eyes,  no  earthly  strength  was  in  those 
triumphant  tones.  Death  had  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  but  she  shook  him  off  and  spoke  like  a  conqueror. 
I  looked  at  her  members,  and  saw  that  every  eye  was 
fixed  upon  her,  and  that  reverential  fear  held  them 
immovable.  There  was  a  clock  over  the  mantelpiece, 
and  it  ticked  away  slowly,  solemnly,  but  no  other 
sound  disturbed  the  stillness. 

"  I  have  heard  some  of  you  speak  often  of  your 
crosses,  and  God  knows  how  heavy  some  of  them  have 
been,  and  how  I  have  pitied  and  tried  to  help  you. 
You  will  not  think  I  am  boasting  when  I  say  that  I 
have  had  crosses  to  carry,  too,  but  I  have  always 
endeavoured  to  make  light  of  them,  and  I  am  so  glad 
of  that  to-night.  Because,  dear  friends,  I  realist 
very  clearly  now  that  to  carry  a  cross  that  is  laid 
upon  us  is  to  help  the  Master.  I  think  Simon  was  a 
strong,  kindly  man,  who  was  glad  to  carry  the  cross 
for  Christ's  sake.  I  like  to  think  of  him  as  pushing 
his  way  through  the  crowd  arid  saying  :  '  Let  me  help 
the  Master  :  I  will  gladly  carry  it  for  Him.'  And  1 
want  to  say  this  :  that  all  through  my  life  when  I  have 
tried  to  carry  my  cross  cheerfully  the  Master  has  always 
taken  the  heavier  end — always  ! 

"  You  will  go  on  having  crosses  to  carry  so  long  as 
ever  you  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ;  but  remember 
this — all  troubles  are  not  crosses.  God  has  nothing 
to  do  with  lots  of  our  troubles.  Indeed,  I  am  not 
sure  that  what  we  call  a  trouble  is  ever  a  cross.  That 


294  WINDYRIDGE 

only  is  a  cross  which  we  carry  for  His  sake.  It  is 
a  privilege  to  carry  a  cross,  and  we  ought  to  be  glad 
when  we  are  selected. 

"  '  But  suppose  we  fall  under  it  ?  '  some  of  you  may 
say.  Listen  :  '  They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall 
renew  their  strength.'  You  forgot  that.  'When  1 
am  weak  then  I  am  strong.'  Why  ?  Because  the 
good  Lord  never  asks  us  to  carry  a  cross  without  giving 
us  strength  for  the  burden.  His  grace  is  always 
sufficient  for  us.  Never  forget  my  words — they  are 
perhaps  the  last  I  shall  speak  as  your  leader,  and  oh, 
my  dear  friends,  how  my  heart  yearns  over  you  ! 
how  very  dear  to  me  is  your  truest  welfare  ! — no 
trouble  need  ever  o'erwhelm  you,  no  temptation  need 
ever  cause  you  to  fall,  no  weakness  of  the  body  need 
ever  affect  the  strength  of  the  soul,  no  darkness  of 
earth  need  ever  shut  out  the  light  of  heaven,  because — 
listen,  '  Lo,  I  am  with  you  always,  even  unto  the  end 
of  the  world '  !  " 

She  paused,  and  the  women,  unaccustomed  to  self- 
control,  were  sobbing  audibly  into  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  Mother  Hubbard  noticed  it. 

"  We  will  not  sing  a  closing  hymn,"  she  said  ;  "  let 
us  pray." 

The  women  knelt  ;  but  she  merely  leaned  forward, 
with  her  hands  clasped  on  the  table  in  front  of  her, 
and  commended  them  all  to  God.  She  prayed  for 
each  of  them  individually,  using  their  Christian  names, 
and  remembering  all  their  families  and  family  diffi- 
culties. She  prayed  for  the  absent  ones,  for  the  toilworn 


MOTHER    HUBBARD'S  CALL      295 

and  the  sick  ;  and  she  prayed  for  me — and  may 
God  in  His  mercy  answer  that  prayer,  then  shall  my 
life  be  blessed  indeed. 

When  she  had  pronounced  the  benediction  in  a  very 
low  voice  we  rose  from  our  knees,  and  saw  her  with  her 
face  uplifted  to  heaven,  and  the  calm  of  heaven  spread 
over  it,  like  the  clear  golden  calm  of  a  cloudless  sunset. 
Then,  slowly,  the  head  dropped  upon  her  hands  ; 
and  when  at  length  we  tried  to  rouse  her  we  found 
that  she  was  beyond  our  call. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IN    THE   CRUCIBLE 

DESPITE  the  squire's  protests  I  remained  in 
my  own  cottage  until  the  Monday  when 
Mother  Hubbard's  frail  body  was  laid  to 
rest  in  the  little  graveyard.  There  was  nothing  to 
fear,  and  I  felt  that  I  could  not  leave  her  there  alone. 
She  would  have  rebuked  me,  I  know,  and  would  have 
read  me  the  lesson  of  the  cocoon  and  the  butterfly  ; 
but  I  am  most  contented  when  I  trust  implicitly  to 
my  instincts,  and  my  Inner  Self  bade  me  stay. 

Practically  all  the  village  turned  out  to  the  funeral, 
and  the  chapel  was  crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity. 
It  was  a  cheerful  service,  too,  in  spite  of  our  tears, 
for  the  ministers  and  members  had  caught  her  spirit, 
and  "  Lydia  "  was  sung  with  a  vigour  and  heartiness 
which  I  should  have  liked  the  dear  old  lady  to  witness. 
Perhaps  she  did  :  who  knows  ? 

The  squire  and  I  occupied  the  position  of  chief 
mourners,  but  the  entire  village  sorrowed,  as  those 
only  sorrow  who  have  lost  a  friend  that  cannot  be 
replaced.  There  is  no  other  Mother  Hubbard  here, 
and  how  much  she  will  be  missed  when  trouble  sits  by 
the  hearths  of  the  people  only  time  can  make  known. 

When  all  was  over  I  went  straight  to  my  new  home 
at  the  Hall,  and  entered  into  possession  of  the  lovely 


IN   THE   CRUCIBLE  297 

room  which  had  been  prepared  for  me.  Every  morning 
and  afternoon  I  go  to  my  work  at  the  studio,  but  with- 
out the  zest  which  makes  duty  a  delight.  The  squire 
would  like  me  to  abandon  the  studio  altogether  and 
do  my  regular  work  at  the  Hall,  but  I  cannot  quite 
reconcile  myself  to  the  idea.  After  all,  the  studio  is 
there,  and  as  the  weeks  go  by  I  shall  lose  the  sense  of 
desolation  which  is  now  associated  with  the  place, 
and  which  hangs  like  lead  upon  the  wings  of  my 
spirit. 

Yet  what  cause  for  gratitude  is  mine  !  Though  I 
have  lost  one  true  friend  another  is  here  to  comfort 
and  cheer  me  with  never-failing  insight  and  sympathy. 
How  I  enjoy  these  long  evenings  in  the  library,  the 
quiet  talks  in  the  firelight,  the  hour  which  follows  the 
lighting  of  the  lamp,  when  I  read  aloud  from  the  squire's 
favourite  authors  or  the  learned  quarterlies  ;  and  best 
of  all,  the  comments  and  discussions  which  enable  me 
to  plumb  the  depths  of  his  mind  and  make  me  marvel 
at  the  extent  of  his  knowledge.  He  likes  me  to  sit 
on  a  stool  at  his  feet  as  I  did,  ages  ago,  at  Zermatt, 
resting  my  arm  or  book  upon  his  knee  and  within  easy 
reach  of  his  caressing  hand.  Whatever  I  may  have 
lost  by  coming  to  Windyridge  I  have  certainly  found 
affection,  and  I  am  woman  enough  to  value  it  above 
all  my  losses. 

So  far,  Mr.  Derwent  has  come  down  each  week-end 
and  has  remained  at  the  Hall  over  the  Sunday.  For 
some  reason  which  he  does  not  explain  the  squire 
seems  rather  amused  with  him  just  now,  and  indulges 


WINDYRIDGE 

occasionally  in  a  mild  form  of  banter  which  leaves  the 
younger  man  quite  unruffled.  He  asks  him  how  he 
can  possibly  tear  himself  away  so  often  from  the 
attractions  and  duties  of  the  metropolis  ;  and  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  he  suspects  the  existence  of  an 
attractive  force  there.  I  wonder  if  the  Cynic  has  told 
him  anything  of  Rose.  For  myself,  I  am  not  surprised 
that  he  comes  to  Broadbeck  for  the  week-ends,  because 
the  habit  is  ingrained  in  him,  and  bachelors  of  his  age 
do  not  readily  abandon  old  customs. 

We  had  a  very  interesting  evening  on  Saturday. 
The  vicar  is  away  on  a  stone-hunt  of  some  kind,  so  his 
wife  came  to  dinner,  and  gave  spice  to  the  conver- 
sation, as  she  invariably  does.  I  am  always  delighted 
when  she  forms  one  of  the  company  that  includes 
the  Cynic,  for  she  is  refreshingly  blunt  and  frank  with 
him,  and  he  does  not  get  all  his  own  way.  And  at  the 
same  time  he  seems  to  enjoy  drawing  her  out — I  suppose 
he  would  say  "  pulling  her  leg,"  if  she  were  not  a  lady. 

On  this  particular  occasion  she  attacked  him  the 
moment  we  were  comfortably  settled  in  the  library, 
and  for  a  long  time  the  battle  was  a  mere  duel  of  wits. 
She  was  extremely  scornful  because  he  had  chosen  to 
remain  a  bachelor,  and  he  defended  himself  with  more 
than  his  usual  cynicism. 

Something  had  been  said  about  the  growing  spirit 
of  brotherhood,  when  she  broke  in  : 

"  Bah  !  don't  talk  to  me  about  your  altruism  or 
any  other  'ism.  In  these  days  you  men  make  high- 
sounding  phrases  take  the  place  of  principle.  If  I 


IN   THE    CRUCIBLE  299 

know  anything  of  the  meaning  of  words  altruism  is  the 
very  opposite  of  selfishness — and  who  is  more  selfish 
than  your  bachelor  ?  " 

The  Cynic  blew  a  thin  column  of  smoke  towards  the 
ceiling  and  spoke  languidly  : 

"  Stevenson  says — I  mean  R.  L.,  of  course — that  if 
you  wish  the  pick  of  men  and  women  you  must  take 
a  good  bachelor  and  a  good  wife." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  !  "  replied  the  vicar's  wife  ; 
"  if  there  were  such  a  thing  as  a  good  bachelor  I  should 
say  that  he  got  amongst  the  pick  of  men  only  when 
he  took  to  himself  a  good  wife.  But  who  ever  yet 
saw  or  knew  a  '  good  '  bachelor  ?  It's  a  contradiction 
of  terms.  Mind  you,  I  don't  call  boys  bachelors  ; 
bachelors  are  men  who  might  be  married  if  they 
would,  but  they  won't.  Good  men  are  unselfish., 
and  bachelors  are  brazenly  self-centred,  and  usually 
unbearably  conceited.  And  you  are  as  bad  as  any 
of  them,  Philip." 

"  Veritatis  simplex  oratio  est,"  muttered  the  Cynic. 

"  Didn't  I  say  so  ?  "  ejaculated  the  vicar's  wife 
triumphantly.  "  It  is  a  sure  sign  of  conceit  when  a  man 
hurls  a  bit  of  school  Latin  at  his  ignorant  opponent  and 
so  scores  a  paltry  advantage."  She  pursed  her  lips 
in  scorn. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  the  Cynic  calmly  ; 
"  I  got  the  quotation  from  a  cyclopaedia,  but  I  will 
substitute  a  line  from  an  English  poet  which  accurately 
expresses  the  same  meaning  : 

"  '  How  sweet  the  words  of  truth,  breathed  from  the  lips  of  love  !  ' 


300  WINDYRIDGE 

But  is  there  no  excuse  for  me  and  others  in  like  case  ? 
Are  we  unmarried  men  sinners  above  all  the  rest  ? 
Granted  that  we  are  selfish,  conceited,  corrupt  and  vile, 
is  there  yet  no  place  for  us  in  the  universe  ?  no  lonely 
corner  in  the  vineyard  where  we  can  work  with  profit 
to  the  State  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you  work  '  with  profit  to  the 
State,'  "  returned  the  vicar's  wife  with  a  curl  of  the 
lip,  "  when  you  persuade  one  of  His  Majesty's  judges 
to  send  some  poor  wretch  to  gaol,  where  he  will  be 
provided  for  at  the  country's  expense  whilst  his  wife 
and  children  are  left  to  starve.  You  would  be  of  far 
more  use  to  it,  let  me  tell  you,  if  you  became  the  father 
of  a  family  and " 

The  Cynic  held  up  his  hand  :  "  The  prey  of  some 
conceited  bachelor  who  should  wickedly  persuade  one 
of  His  Majesty's  judges  to  send  me  to  gaol,  whilst  my 
wife  and  children  were  left  to  starve.  The  reasoning 
does  not  seem  very  clear.  If  I  had  remained  a  bachelor 
I  might  have  become  a  wretch,  and  I  might  have  suf- 
fered imprisonment,  but  at  least  my  sins  would  not 
have  been  visited  upon  the  innocent  heads  of  wife  and 
children.  And  then  it  occurs  to  me  that  I  have  known 
bachelors  to  be  sent  to  gaol  at  the  instance  of  married 
men  who  persuaded  the  judges  to  send  them  there. 
No,  no,  madam,  you  are  too  deep  for  me  !  I  give  it 
up !  " 

"  Rubbish  !  "  snorted  the  vicar's  wife,  "  you  evade 
the  issue,  which  is  simple  enough.  Are — bachelors — 
selfish — or — are — they — not  ? 


IN   THE   CRUCIBLE  301 

The  Cynic  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  They  are 
more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed,  believe  me.  They  are  too 
often  the  sport  of  cruel  Fate — tossed  here  and  there  upon 
the  wave  of  Circumstance — unable,  alas!  and  not  unwill- 
ing to  find  safety  in  the  Harbour  of  Matrimony.  Their 
lot  is  indeed  a  sad  one.  Don't  call  them  hard  names,  but 
drop  for  them — and  me — the  silent  tear  of  sympathy." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  broke  in  the  vicar's  wife,  "  I  knew 
that  dodge  was  sure  to  be  employed  sooner  or  later. 
I  was  on  the  watch  for  it.  It  is  the  old  excuse  that 
there  is  nobody  to  marry.  The  wave  of  Circumstance 
does  not  toss  you  into  the  arms  of  some  captivating 
nymph,  and  so  you  remain  all  at  sea — more  ornamental, 
perhaps,  but  hardly  more  useful  than  a  cork  on  the 
ocean.  If  you  really  wanted  to  get  into  the  Harbour 
of  Matrimony,  let  me  tell  you,  you  would  turn  about 
and  swim  there,  instead  of  blaming  Fate  for  not  rolling 
you  in  on  the  crest  of  a  wave." 

We  laughed,  and  the  Cynic  said :  "  After  all, 
madam,  selfishness  is  not  confined  to  those  who  have 
no  intention  of  marrying.  When  your  good  husband 
took  to  himself  the  most  charming  of  her  sex  he  doubt- 
less grudged  every  smile  that  was  thrown  to  his  rivals. 
Altruism,  as  you  very  sagaciously  remarked  a  moment 
or  two  ago,  is  the  very  antithesis  of  selfishness,  and 
hence  it  is  unpopular  except  as  an  ideal  for  others. 
The  popular  altruist  is  he  who  denies  himself  to  minister 
to  my  selfishness.  We  are  all  selfish,  with  certain 
rare  exceptions — to  be  found,  fortunately,  within  the 
circle  of  my  friends." 


302  WINDYRIDGE 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  selfish,"  I  interjected  ;  "  I  wonder 
if  that  is  because  I  am  unmarried." 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  vicar's  wife,  "  your  case  is 
not  on  all  fours  with  Philip's  and  other  bachelors'. 
You  are  the  sport  of  Fate,  and  not  these  men  who  can 
easily  find  some  woman  silly  enough  to  have  them, 
but  who  prefer  their  own  selfish  ease  and  comfort,  and 
then  entreat  sympathy,  forsooth  !  When  women  are 
unmarried  it  is  rarely  their  own  fault." 

"All  this  is  very  puzzling,"  drawled  the  Cynic. 
"  I  am  groping  in  the  darkness  with  a  sincere  desire 
to  find  light,  and  no  success  rewards  my  patient  efforts. 
I  hear  that  it  is  silliness  on  the  woman's  part  to  accept 
our  offers,  and  still  we  are  blamed  for  saving  them 
from  themselves.  No  doubt  you  are  right,  but  to  me 
it  seems  inconsistent." 

"  Bother  your  casuistry  !  "  replied  the  vicar's  wife, 
dismissing  him  with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  "  Philip, 
you  make  me  tired.  What  makes  you  sure  you  are 
selfish,  dear  ?  I  have  seen  no  signs  of  it." 

The  question  was  addressed  to  me,  and  I  answered  : 
"  I  am  beginning  to  think  it  was  selfishness  that 
brought  me  here,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  not 
selfishness  which  keeps  me  here.  At  the  same  time 
I  have  no  wish  to  leave,  and  the  question  arises,  Is  it 
only  the  disagreeable  which  is  right  ?  Is  selfishness 
never  excusable  ?  " 

"  In  other  words,"  remarked  the  Cynic,  whose  eyes 
were  closed,  "  is  not  vice,  after  all,  and  at  any  rate 
sometimes,  a  modified  form  of  virtue  ?  " 


IN   THE  CRUCIBLE  303 

"  Listen  to  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  vicar's  wife ; 
"  the  embodiment  of  selfishness  is  about  to  proclaim 
himself  the  apostle  of  morality.  The  unfettered  lord 
of  creation  will  expound  to  a  slave  of  circumstance  the 
ethical  order  of  the  universe,  for  the  instruction  of  her 
mind  and  the  good  of  her  soul." 

"  The  fact  is,"  continued  the  Cynic,  without  heeding 
the  interruption,  "  Miss  Holden,  like  many  other 
sensitive  people  of  both  sexes,  has  a  faulty  conception 
of  what  selfishness  is.  There  are  many  people  who 
imagine  that  it  is  sinful  to  be  happy,  and  a  sign  of  grace 
to  be  miserable,  which  is  about  as  sensible  as  to  believe 
that  it  is  an  indication  of  good  health  when  you  are 
irritable  and  out  of  sorts.  To  be  selfish  is  to  be  careless 
of  the  interests  of  others,  and  Miss  Holden  is  certainly 
not  that." 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  say  so,"  I  said,  "  but  I  some- 
times wonder  if  I  am  not  shirking  duty  and  evading 
responsibility  by  enjoying  myself  here." 

The  squire  gave  my  hand  an  affectionate  squeeze, 
but  only  his  eyes  spoke  ;  and  the  vicar's  wife  turned 
to  me. 

"  What  brought  you  up  here,  dear  ?  I  don't  think 
I  ever  knew." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't,"  I  replied,  and  before  I  had  time 
to  continue  the  Cynic  leaned  forward  and  looked  at 
me. 

"  I  know,"  he  said. 

'  You  once  promised  to  explain  me  to  myself,"  I 
said  smiling.  "  Is  this  the  day  and  the  hour  ?  " 


304  WINDYRIDGE 

"  That  is  for  you  to  say,"  he  replied.  "  You  may 
object  to  analysis  in  public.  True,  there  are  some 
advantages  from  your  point  of  view.  You  will  have 
one  of  your  own  sex  to  hold  a  brief  for  you,  and  a  very 
partial  judge  to  guarantee  fair  play." 

"  I  do  not  mind,"  I  replied  ;  and  the  squire  smiled 
contentedly. 

The  Cynic  threw  his  cigarette  into  the  fire  and  began  : 
"  As  I  understand  the  case,  before  you  left  London 
your  duties  kept  your  hands  busily  employed  during 
working  hours,  but  allowed  you  ample  opportunity 
for  the  consideration  of  those  social  problems  in  which 
for  the  previous  year  or  two  you  had  been  deeply 
interested,  and  a  certain  portion  of  your  leisure  was 
devoted  to  social  and  philanthropic  work  ?  " 

I  assented  with  a  nod. 

"  Very  well.  Yielding  to  what  appeared  to  be  a 
sudden  impulse,  but  to  what  was  in  reality  the  well- 
considered  action  of  your  subconscious  self,  you 
bound  your  burden  of  cares  upon  your  back  and  fled 
from  your  City  of  Destruction." 

"  Like  a  coward,"  I  interposed,  "  afraid  to  play  the 
game  of  life  because  of  its  hazards.  I  might  have 
remained  and  faced  the  problems  and  helped  to  fight  the 
foe  I  loathed." 

"  I  will  come  to  that  shortly,"  he  said,  and  every 
trace  of  irony  had  left  his  voice  ;  "at  present  I  am 
considering  why  your  subconscious  self  decided  upon 
this  line  of  action.  The  world's  sorrows  were  oppress- 
ing you  like  a  nightmare.  Do  you  know  that  few  of 


IN  THE   CRUCIBLE  305 

us  can  meet  sorrow  face  to  face  and  day  by  day  and 
retain  our  strength,  and  particularly  if  we  seek  to  meet 
it  unprepared,  unschooled  ?  One  of  two  things  usually 
happens  :  we  become  hardened,  or  we  go  mad.  From 
these  alternatives  it  is  sometimes  wise  to  flee,  and  then 
flight  is  not  cowardice,  but  prudence." 

"  I  certainly  obeyed  my  Inner  Self,"  I  said,  "  but 
is  there  not  such  a  thing  as  a  false  conscience  ?  " 

"  Your  '  Inner  Self  '  did  not  betray  you,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  Unwittingly  you  sought,  not  oblivion,  but 
enlightenment  and  preparation.  All  earnest  reformers 
are  driven  of  the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness." 

"  Yes,  but  for  what  purpose,  Derwent  ?  "  interposed 
the  squire  ;  "  to  be  tempted  of  the  devil  ?  " 

"  To  face  the  tempter,  sir.  To  test  their  own  armour 
in  private  conflict  before  they  go  forth  to  strike  down 
the  public  foe.  To  discover  the  devil's  strength,  his 
powers  and  his  limitations,  before  they  match  them- 
selves against  legions.  To  discover  their  own  strength 
and  limitations,  too.  The  first  essential  in  successful 
warfare  is  to  know  yourself  and  your  enemy,  and 
you  gain  that  knowledge  in  solitude.  It  was  so  with 
Jesus,  with  Paul,  with  Savonarola,  with  scores  of  other 
reformers.  Miss  Holden  was  driven  into  the  wilderness 
— if  you  care  to  put  it  so — for  a  similar  purpose." 

"  But  ought  one  to  avoid  opportunities  of  useful- 
ness ?  "  I  urged.  "  I  was  in  the  fray  and  I  withdrew 
from  it." 

"  A  raw  soldier,  invalided  home,  though  you  did 
not  know  it,"  he  continued,  "  and  sent  into  the  country 


3o6  WINDYRIDGE 

for  rest  and  renewal,  and  quiet  preparation  for  effective 
service.  Here  you  have  gained  your  perspective.  You 
survey  the  field  of  battle  from  the  heights,  and  yet 
you  have  come  in  contact  with  the  enemy  at  close 
quarters,  too,  and  you  know  his  tactics.  You  will 
face  the  problems  of  sin  and  suffering  and  social 
injustice  again,  but  with  new  heart  and  less  of 
despair." 

"  You  are  too  generous,  I  fear.  I  should  like  to 
think  that  my  motives  were  so  pure,  but " 

"  What  is  motive  ?  Motive  is  what  excites  to  action. 
Your  motive  was  not  less  pure  because  it  was  intuitive 
and  unrecognised.  But  let  me  ask  you  :  What  ideal 
are  you  disposed  to  think  you  left  unaccomplished  ? 
What  object  ought  you  to  have  pursued  ?  " 

I  thought  a  moment  before  I  replied  :  "It  seems 
to  me  that  when  there  is  so  much  sin  and  suffering 
in  the  world  we  should  try  to  alleviate  it,  and  to 
remedy  the  wrongs  from  which  so  much  of  it  springs. 
And  from  these  things  I  fled,  though  I  knew  that  the 
labourers  were  few." 

"  You  fled  from  the  devil,  did  you  ?  And  you 
found  Windyridge  a  Paradise  from  which  he  was 
barred  !  " 

I  remained  silent. 

"  London  has  no  monopoly  of  sin  and  suffering. 
Evil  has  not  a  merely  local  habitation.  If  it  was  a 
wile  of  the  devil  to  remove  you  out  of  his  way  it  has 
been  singularly  unsuccessful,  I  conclude,  for  I  under- 
stand you  have  found  him  vigorously  at  work  here  all 


IN  THE  CRUCIBLE  307 

the  time.  Have  you  then  discovered  no  opportunities 
of  service  and  usefulness  in  the  wilderness  ?  " 

"  If  happiness  is  gained  by  administering  it  to 
others,"  said  the  squire  with  some  emotion  ;  "  if  to 
break  up  the  hard  ground  of  the  heart  and  sow  in  it 
the  seed  of  peace  is  to  defeat  the  devil  and  his  aims, 
then  has  Miss  Holden  reached  her  ideal  and  earned 
her  happiness.  I  told  her  a  year  ago  that  the  devil 
was  a  familiar  presence  in  this  village,  but  I  thank 
God,  as  others  do  and  have  done,  that  she  has  helped 
to  thwart  him." 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  write  all  this  down,  for  it 
has  the  savour  of  vanity  and  conceit,  but  I  do  not  see 
how  I  can  well  avoid  doing  so.  There  are  times  when 
the  heart  speaks  rather  than  the  judgment,  and  the 
squire's  heart  is  very  warm  towards  me  ;  and  though 
I  would  not  doubt  his  sincerity  it  is  certain  that  he  is 
not  impartial  where  I  am  concerned. 

The  Cynic  looked  pleased.  "  I  quite  agree,  sir,"  he 
said ;  "  Miss  Holden  has  used  her  opportunities — 
not  simply  those  which  presented  themselves,  but 
those  which  she  has  sought  and  found,  which  is  higher 
service.  Hence,  I  conclude  that  the  policy  of  her  sub- 
conscious self  has  been  justified,  and  that  she  is  absolved 
from  any  charge  of  selfishness." 

"  Really,  Philip  !  "  said  the  vicar's  wife,  "  your 
eloquence  has  almost  deprived  me  of  the  power  of 
speech,  which  you  will  acknowledge  is  no  mean  achieve- 
ment. I  thought  /  was  appointed  counsel  for  the 
defence  and  that  you  were  to  prefer  the  indictment  and 


3o8  WINDYRIDGE 

prove  Miss  Holden  guilty  of  some  heinous  crime.  My 
office  has  been  a  sinecure,  for  a  better  piece  of  special 
pleading  for  the  defence  I  have  never  listened  to." 

"  I  must  be  fair  at  all  costs,"  he  replied  ;  "  Miss 
Holden  had  no  misgivings,  I  imagine,  when  she 
came  here  at  first.  Doubts  arose,  as  they  so  often  do 
with  the  conscientious,  when  the  venture  prospered. 
The  martyr  spirit  distrusts  itself  when  there  is  no 
sign  of  rack  and  faggot.  I  seek  now  to  reveal  Miss 
Holden  to  herself." 

"  You  are  wonderfully  sure  of  yourself,"  returned 
his  opponent,  "  but  let  us  be  fair  to  our  pretensions. 
If  you  are  for  the  defence  let  me  be  for  the  prosecution. 
Does  one  serve  his  country  better  when  he  leaves  the 
thick  of  the  fray  to  study  maps  and  tactics  ?  If  one 
has  the  opportunity  to  live  is  it  sufficient  to  vegetate  ? 
For  every  opportunity  of  usefulness  that  Windyridge 
can  offer  London  can  provide  a  score,  and  Miss  Holden 's 
lot  was  cast  in  London.  Is  she  living  her  life  ?  That, 
I  take  it,  is  her  problem." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "it  is  something  like  that." 
•  "  I  accept  your  challenge,"  replied  the  Cynic, 
"  and  I  agree  that  it  is  not  what  we  do  but  what  we 
are  capable  of  doing  that  counts.  But  the  most 
effective  workman  is  not  he  who  undertakes  the  largest 
variety  of  jobs,  but  he  who  puts  himself  into  his  work. 
You  speak  of  vegetating,  and  you  ask  if  Miss  Holden 
is  living  her  life.  What  is  life  ?  The  man  who  rises 
early  and  retires  late,  and  spends  the  intervening  hours 
in  one  unceasing  rush  does  not  know  the  meaning  of 


IN  THE  CRUCIBLE  309 

life  ;  whereas  the  farmer  who  goes  slowly  and  steadily 
along  the  track  of  the  hours,  or  the  student  who  devotes 
only  a  portion  of  his  time  to  his  books  and  spends  the 
rest  in  recreation,  or  the  business  man  who  declines 
to  sacrifice  himself  upon  the  altar  of  Mammon — these 
men  live.  And  it  is  the  man  who  lives  who  benefits 
his  fellows.  To  visit  the  sick,  to  clothe  the  naked, 
to  dole  out  sympathy  and  charity  to  the  poor  is  noble 
work,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  the  most  effective  way 
of  helping  them.  The  man  who  sits  down  to  study  the 
problem  of  prevention — the  root  causes  of  misery  and 
injustice — and  who  discovers  and  publishes  the  remedy, 
is  the  truer  and  more  valuable  friend,  though  he  never 
enter  a  slum  or  do  volunteer  work  in  a  soup  kitchen." 

"  And  whilst  we  are  diagnosing  the  conditions  rather 
than  the  case  the  patient  dies,"  said  the  vicar's  wife. 
"  We  stop  our  sick  visiting  and  our  soup  kitchens,  and 
bid  the  people  suffer  and  starve  in  patience  whilst  we 
retire  into  our  studies  to  theorise  over  causes." 

"  To  refer  to  your  illustration  of  a  moment  ago,  my 
dear  madam,  the  battle  need  not  stop  because  one  or 
two  men  of  insight  retire  to  serve  their  country  by 
studying  maps  and  tactics.  We  need  not  chain  up 
the  Good  Samaritan,  but  we  shall  be  of  far  greater 
service  to  humanity  if,  instead  of  forming  a  league  for 
the  supply  of  oil  and  wine  and  plasters,  we  inaugu- 
rate measures  to  clear  the  road  of  robbers.  '  This 
ought  ye  to  do  and  not  to  leave  the  other  undone.'  ' 

'  You  admit,  then,  that  some  may  find  their  oppor- 
tunity of  service  in  work  of  this  baser  sort  ?  " 


310  WINDYRIDGE 

"  No  work  is  base  which  is  done  with  a  pure  motive 
and  done  well.  All  I  contend  for  is  that  when  instinct 
bids  any  of  us  withdraw  for  a  time,  or  even  altogether, 
it  is  wise  to  trust  our  instincts.  If  Miss  Holden  had 
devoted  herself  to  a  life  of  pleasure  and  selfish  isolation 
she  might  have  been  charged  with  cowardly  flight 
from  duty.  We  all  know  she  has  done  nothing  of 
the  kind,  and  therefore  I  say  her  intuition  was  trust- 
worthy, and  she  must  not  accuse  herself  of  selfishness." 
"  I  agree  with  all  my  heart,"  said  the  vicar's  wife  ; 
"  but  the  problems  which  she  left  unsolved  are  no 
nearer  solution." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  he  asked.  "  The  war 
may  be  nearer  its  end  because  your  unheroic  soldier 
sheathed  his  sword  and  put  on  his  thinking-cap. 
That  unsoldier-like  action  may  have  saved  the  lives 
of  thousands  and  brought  about  an  honourable  peace. 
I  do  not  know  that  Miss  Holden  has  done  much  to 
solve  the  general  problem,  but  I  dare  assert  that  she 
views  it  more  clearly,  and  could  face  it  more  confi- 
dently than  she  could  have  done  a  year  ago — that  is  to 
say,  she  has  solved  her  own  problem." 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  that,"  I  said.  "  Windyridge 
has  given  me  clearer  vision,  and  I  am  more  optimistic 
on  that  account.  Mr.  Evans  told  me  on  the  occasion 
of  our  first  meeting  that  I  should  find  human  nature 
the  same  here  as  elsewhere,  and  that  is  so.  But  the 
type  is  larger  in  the  village  than  it  is  in  the  town,  and 
I  can  read  and  understand  it  better.  Yet  one  thing  town 
and  country  alike  have  proved  to  me,  and  that  is  what 


IN   THE   CRUCIBLE  311 

you,  Mr.  Evans,  asserted  so  confidently — that  selfish- 
ness is  the  root  of  sin.  And  how  are  we  to  conquer  that  ? ' ' 
"  Only  by  patient  effort,"  replied  the  squire. 
"  Shallow  reformers  are  eager  to  try  hasty  and  ill- 
considered  measures.  Zealous  converts,  whose  eyes 
have  been  suddenly  opened  to  the  anomalies  and 
injustices  of  society,  are  angry  and  impatient  because 
the  wheels  of  progress  revolve  so  slowly,  and  they 
become  rebellious  and  sometimes  anarchical.  And 
their  discontent  is  a  sign  of  life,  and  it  is  good  in  its 
way,  but  ordinarily  it  is  ineffective.  You  may  blow 
up  the  Council  House  in  Jericho  because  the  councillors 
have  not  done  their  duty,  and  you  may  shoot  the 
robbers  because  they  have  wounded  the  traveller,  and 
the  zealous  reformer  will  commend  you  and  say  :  '  Now 
we  are  beginning  to  make  things  move  !  '  But  the 
man  who  goes  to  work  to  destroy  the  seeds  of  greed  and 
selfishness,  so  that  men  will  no  longer  either  need  or 
covet  the  possessions  of  others,  is  the  real  reformer; 
but  reformation  is  a  plant  of  slow  growth.  Yet  every- 
one who  sows  the  antidote  to  selfishness  in  the  heart 
of  his  neighbour  is  to  be  accounted  a  reformer." 

The  vicar's  carriage  was  announced  at  that  moment 
and  the  conversation  was  interrupted. 

"  We  will  continue  it  next  week,  sir,"  said  the 
Cynic,  "  if  you  will  allow  me  to  pay  you  another  visit. 
I  cannot  be  here  until  the  evening  of  Saturday  ;  may 
I  stay  the  week-end  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  squire  with  a  smile,  "  if 
your  engagements  permit.  I  think  we  must  all  realise 


312  WINDYRIDGE 

that    you  seek  to    carry   your   theory  of   life    into 
practice." 

That  was  on  Saturday.  The  Cynic  left  by  the  early 
train  this  morning,  and  he  had  no  sooner  gone  than 
the  post  brought  me  a  letter  from  Rose.  It  was  short 
and  sweet — very  sweet  indeed. 

"  MY  DEAR  GRACE, 

"  Congratulate  me !  I  am  engaged  to  be 
married  to  the  best  of  men,  not  excepting  your  Cynic. 
You  will  blame  me  for  keeping  it  quiet,  but  how  can 
I  tell  what  is  going  to  happen  beforehand  ?  Besides, 
you  don't  tell  me  ! 

"  I  am  to  marry  my  chief,  who  is  henceforward  to 
be  known  to  you  and  me  as  '  Stephen. '  He  is  two  or 
three  years  older  than  I  am  ;  good-looking,  of  course, 
or  he  wouldn't  have  appealed  to  me,  and  over  head 
and  ears  in  love  with 

'  Your  very  affectionate  and  somewhat  intoxicated 

"  ROSE. 

"  PS. — He  has  known  your  Cynic  for  years,  but  he 
(I  mean  your  Cynic)  is  too  good  a  sportsman  to  spoil 
the  fun. 

"  PPS. — It  is  a  beautiful  ring — diamonds  !  " 

I  am  delighted  to  think  that  Rose  is  so  happy,  and 
can  excuse  the  brevity  of  the  communication  under 
the  circumstances.  But  I  am  surprised.  I  never 
dreamed  that  her  chief  was  young  and  unmarried. 
Why  she  should  always  say  "  your  "  Cynic,  however, 
and  underline  it,  too,  I  cannot  understand.  I  wish  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    GREAT    STORM 

MY  book  is  nearly  full,  and  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  begin  another,  for  my  time  is  likely 
to  be  fully  occupied  now.  But  I  must  set 
down  the  events  of  the  last  week-end  and  tell  of  the 
wonderful  climacteric  that  I  have  passed  through. 
Then  the  curtain  may  be  allowed  to  fall  on  my  un- 
important experiences. 

They  have  not  been  unimportant  to  me,  and  my 
recent  adventures  have  provided  sufficient  excitement 
to  keep  the  tongues  of  the  villagers  busy  for  months. 

Incidentally  I  have  discovered  that  Windyridge  does 
not  belie  its  name,  but  that  the  storm  fiend  makes  it 
the  stage  for  some  of  his  most  outrageous  escapades. 

We  had  samples  of  all  the  different  kinds  of  weather 
England  provides  last  week — rain,  snow,  sleet,  light 
breezes,  fleecy  clouds  sailing  slowly  across  the  blue, 
dull  and  threatening  times  when  the  skies  were  leaden. 

Saturday  was  the  gloomiest  day  of  all.  It  was  gusty 
from  the  beginning,  but  until  the  afternoon  the  wind 
was  only  sportive,  and  contented  itself  with  rude, 
schoolboy  pranks.  By  five  o'clock,  however,  its  mood 
had  changed  and  its  force  increased  fourfold,  and  by 
six  o'clock  it  had  cast  off  all  restraint  and  become  a 
tempest. 


314  WINDYRIDGE 

Whilst  I  remained  in  the  Hall  I  hardly  realised  its 
fury,  for  the  house  is  well  built  and  shielded  from  the 
full  force  of  the  northerly  winds.  It  was  when  [ 
ventured  out  to  visit  Martha  Treffit  soon  after  dinner 
that  I  became  aware  of  it. 

The  squire  had  left  the  table  with  a  severe  headache, 
and  retired  to  his  own  room  where,  with  drawn  blinds 
and  absolute  quietude,  he  usually  finds  ease,  and  I 
was  left  to  my  own  devices  and  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  Cynic,  when  he  should  arrive. 

But  his  train  was  not  due  until  eight,  and  it  would 
take  him  a  good  thirty  minutes  to  walk  from  the 
station,  so  I  had  more  than  an  hour  at  my  disposal, 
and  I  was  anxious  to  find  out  how  little  Lucy  was 
progressing.  She  had  been  under  the  care  of  the  doctor 
for  several  days,  and  was  still  in  bed  and  very  feverish. 

I  put  on  my  ulster,  wound  a  wrap  about  my  head, 
and  stepped  out  on  to  the  drive,  and  it  was  then  that 
I  became  aware  of  the  raging  elements  around  me. 

The  wind  blew  bitingly  from  the  north,  charged 
with  smarting  pellets  of  sleet.  I  had  known  strong 
winds  before,  but  never  anything  like  this.  It  howled 
and  roared,  it  hissed  and  shrieked  ;  it  was  as  much 
as  I  could  do  to  force  my  way  forward  against  the 
pressure  of  its  onrush  ;  but  though  my  head  was  bent 
I  saw  that  every  bush  and  shrub  was  shaken  as  by 
some  gigantic  Titan,  and  that  the  tall  and  naked  trees 
swayed  towards  me  with  groans  that  sounded  human 
and  ominous. 

On  the  topmost  branches,  black  bundles  which  I 


THE   GREAT   STORM  315 

knew  to  be  deserted  nests  were  rocked  violently  to  and 
fro,  like  anchored  boats  in  the  trough  of  a  storm-lashed 
sea.  The  night  was  grim  and  black,  save  when  for  a 
brief  moment  the  full  moon  gleamed  down  upon  the 
angry  scene  from  the  torn  rifts  of  the  scurrying  clouds. 

The  thought  crossed  my  mind  that  it  might  be  wiser 
to  return,  but  Fate  or  Providence  urged  me  forward, 
and  I  laughed  at  my  fears  and  set  my  shoulder  to  the 
storm. 

Phew  !  if  it  was  a  gale  along  the  drive  it  was  a 
hurricane  in  the  village  street,  and  a  hot-headed, 
impetuous  hurricane,  too.  Pausing  for  a  second  in 
its  mad  rush  it  leaped  upon  one  the  next  moment 
with  a  sudden  fury  that  seemed  almost  devilish  and 
was  well-nigh  irresistible.  Twice  I  was  flung  against 
the  wall,  but  as  I  was  hugging  it  pretty  closely  I  suffered 
no  harm.  As  I  struggled  onward  the  wind  was  in 
my  teeth  ;  a  dozen  steps  farther  and  it  leaped  the  wall 
on  my  right  with  a  roar,  like  a  pack  of  hounds  in  full 
cry,  and  tore  down  the  fields  with  reckless  velocity  to 
hurl  itself  into  the  black  mystery  of  the  wood. 

Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen,  but  the  clatter  of  a  dis- 
lodged slate  upon  the  pavement  brought  a  frightened 
woman  to  the  door  of  one  of  the  cottages,  and  I  stepped 
inside  for  a  moment's  breathing-space. 

"  Lord  !  Miss  'Olden,  is  it  you  ?  "  she  said.  "  I 
don't  know  how  you  dare  stir  out.  I'm  a 'most  flayed 
to  death  to  stay  in  t'  'ouse  by  myself,  but  my  master 
is  off  wi'  most  o'  t'  other  men  to  Gordon's  farm  to  give 
'em  a  hand." 


316  WINDYRIDGE 

"  What  is  the  matter  there  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Ye  'aven't  'eard,  then  ?  They  say  'at  t'  wind's 
uprooted  t'  big  sycamore  an'  flung  it  again  one  o'  t' 
barns,  or  summat,  an'  it's  like  to  fall  in,  so  they've 
gone  to  see  what  can  be  done." 

I  did  my  best  to  encourage  her  and  then  .made  what 
haste  I  could  to  the  house  of  Roger  Treffit,  which  stood 
lank  and  dark  against  the  black  sky.  As  it  was 
Saturday  night  I  hoped  that  Roger  would  be  away, 
but  it  was  his  voice  that  bade  me  enter,  and  the  dog 
rose  to  give  me  welcome. 

The  fire  roared  up  the  chimney  and  the  wind  met  it 
there  with  answering  roar.  Roger  was  sitting  with  his 
feet  stretched  out  to  the  blaze,  one  arm  resting  upon 
the  table  and  encircling  a  half-empty  whiskey  bottle. 
In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  tumbler  nearly  full  of  spirits. 
I  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  very  drunk,  but  I  believed 
him  to  be  harmless. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Treffit  upstairs  ?  may  I  go  to  her  at  once  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Quite  all  right,  ma'am,  quite  all  right.  Show  lady 
.  .  .  way,  Miss  T'ry.  .  .  .  Missis  ill  ...  kid  ill  ... 
Miss  T'ry  ill  ...  ev'yb'dy  ill.  Doctor  says  mus' 
keep  kid  quiet,  mus'n'  disturb  'er.  Won't  let  'em 
disturb  'er,  I  won't.  ...  Go  forw'd,  ma'am." 

He  rose  steadily  enough,  and  held  the  door  open  for 
me  to  pass  through,  and  I  heard  him  mutter  as  he 
returned  to  his  chair  : 

"  Won't  let  'em  disturb  'er,  I  won't." 

Martha  greeted  me  in  her  usual  sadly-cordial  fashion, 


THE   GREAT   STORM  317 

and  motioned  me  to  a  chair  near  the  bed  where  the 
little  one  lay,  flushed  and  asleep. 

"  She's  a  bit  better,"  she  whispered,  "  but  she's  to  be 
kept  quiet  ;  an'  whatever  I  do  I  haven't  to  miss  'er 
med'cine  every  hour.  But  he  says  wi'  care  an'  good 
nursin'  she'll  pull  through." 

"  And  how  is  your  cough  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  about  as  usual,"  she  replied  indifferently.  "  I 
have  to  cough  into  my  apron  when  Lucy's  asleep,  but 
I  should  soon  be  right  enough  if  I'd  nought  to  worrit 
about.  It's  yon  chap  downstairs  'at  11  be  t'  death  of 
us  both." 

"  Has  he  no  engagement  to-night  ?  I  thought  he 
was  never  free  on  Saturdays." 

"  It's  t'  dog.  She's  poorly  again,  an'  he  can't  work 
her.  My  opinion  is  'at  t'  poor  brute's  about  done,  an' 
I  believe  Roger  knows  it  an'  it's  drivin'  'im  mad.  He 
drinks  t'  day  through,  an'  in  a  bit  there'll  be  nought 
for  us  but  t'  work'us,  for  I  can't  keep  'im  i'  whiskey  ; 
an'  whativver's  goin'  to  come  o'  our  poor  little  Lucy 
I  don't  know.  I've  been  lookin'  at  her  as  she  lay  there, 
Miss  'Olden,  so  sweet  an'  pretty,  like  a  little  angel, 
an'  I  a 'most  asked  the  Lord  to  take  'er  out  of  all 
t'  trouble,  but  I  couldn't  bide  to  lose  'er." 

The  overwrought  woman  buried  her  face  in  her 
apron  and  sobbed  convulsively — deep-drawn,  quiet 
sobs  which  told  of  her  soul's  agony.  A  solitary  candle 
was  burning  upon  the  dressing-table,  and  the  room 
looked  eerie  in  the  half  darkness.  Outside  the  storm 
was  at  its  height,  and  in  the  stillness  which  neither  of 


318  WINDYRIDGE 

us  broke  I  heard  it  shriek  with  the  shrillness  which  one 

associates  with  spirits  in  torment. 

But  it  was  the  savage  thrust  of  the  wind  that  fright- 
ened me  most,  and  the  heavy  and  repeated  thuds 
which  struck  the  end  of  the  house  like  the  battering 
blows  of  a  heavy  ram.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say 
that  the  house  rocked,  and  I  began  to  fear  lest  it  should 
collapse.  I  remembered  what  a  shaky,  decrepit 
structure  it  was,  and  I  turned  to  Martha  to  see  if  she 
shared  my  alarm. 

She  caught  the  question  in  my  eyes  :  "I  think  it's 
safe  enough,"  she  said  ;  "it  allus  rocks  a  bit  in  a 
'igh  wind.  I've  got  while  I  take  no  notice  of  it." 

Poor  woman  !  There  was  a  storm  within  her  breast 
which  dwarfed  the  tempest  outside  into  insignificance  ; 
but  I  held  my  breath  again  and  again,  and  tried  in 
vain  to  stay  the  tumultuous  beatings  of  my  heart 
as  the  mad  wind  rained  blow  after  blow  upon  the 
quivering  walls  with  a  persistency  and  ever  growing 
fury  which  seemed  to  make  disaster  inevitable. 

By  and  by  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  "  Are  you 
sure  the  house  is  safe,  Martha  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Listen 
to  the  wind  now  ;  it  makes  me  shudder  to  hear  it, 
and  the  wall  on  yonder  side  absolutely  heaves.  Had 
we  not  better  wrap  Lucy  up  well,  and  take  her  down- 
stairs ?  " 

"  You  aren't  used  to  it,  Miss  'Olden,  an'  it's  gettin' 
on  your  nerves.  You  needn't  fear.  I've  seen  it  like 
this  oft  enough  afore.  But  you  ought  to  be  gettin' 
back  'ome,  for  it's  hardly  a  fit  night  for  you  to  be  out," 


THE    GREAT   STORM  319 

1  was  reluctant  to  leave,  and  yet  I  saw  that  1  was 
likely  to  do  more  harm  than  good  if  I  remained,  so  I 
said  good-night  and  left  her  ;  but  at  the  foot  of  the 
narrow  staircase  I  found  my  way  blocked  and  the  door 
barred.  Angry  voices  came  from  within  the  room,  and 
my  knocks  were  unheard  or  unheeded.  Roger's  back 
appeared  to  be  against  the  door,  and  I  put  my  ear  to  it 
and  listened. 

They  were  mostly  women's  voices,  and  their  angry 
tone  convinced  me  that  they  had  been  protesting  in 
vain. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Roger  !  I  tell  you  t'  stack  '11 
fall  in  another  minute,  an'  where  '11  you  all  be  then  ? 
Oppen  t'  door,  an'  let's  bring  your  Martha  an'  Lucy 
out,  or  ye '11  all  be  killed  !  " 

"  Ye  shan't  disturb  'er,"  said  the  maudlin  voice  on 
the  other  side  the  door  ;  "  doct'r  said  mus'n'  disturb 
'er  .  .  .  keep  'er  quiet  .  .  .  won't  let  anyb'dy  dis- 
turb 'er." 

"  Can't  you  understand,  you  gawmless  fool,"  shouted 
another  woman,  "  'at  t'  chimley's  rockin'  an'  swayin', 
an'  is  bound  to  come  down  on  t'  top  on  us  all  while 
we're  standin'  'ere  ?  Oppen  t'  door,  you  drunken 
beggar,  an'  let  your  missis  an'  child  come  out  !  " 

"  I'll  shoot  anyb'dy  'at  disturbs  'er,"  stuttered 
Roger  ;  "  hang  me  if  I  don't.  Doct'r  said  mus'n' 
be  disturbed  .  .  .  won't  have  'er  disturbed.  Clear, 
all  of  ye  !  " 

There  was  a  sound  of  sudden  movement,  and  I 
gathered  that  Roger  had  raised  his  weapon.  Sick  at 


320  WINDYRIDGE 

heart  I  groped  my  way  upstairs  again  and  discussed 
the  situation  with  Martha. 

She  was  alarmed  in  good  earnest  now,  as  much  for 
my  sake  as  for  Lucy's,  and  we  went  down  and  battered 
the  door  in  vain.  We  could  hear  voices  faintly,  but 
the  crowd  was  evidently  in  the  road,  and  Roger  was 
still  guarding  the  door. 

We  returned  to  the  bedroom,  and  Martha  flung  her- 
self upon  her  knees  and  broke  into  fervent  prayer  to 
God. 

What  happened  afterwards  has  been  told  me  since. 
Afraid  of  the  tottering  chimney-stack,  and  cowed  by 
Roger's  revolver,  the  group  of  women  and  boys  had 
fallen  back  into  the  road,  when  Barjona  appeared 
upon  the  scene  with  his  cart. 

With  one  accord  the  women  rushed  up  to  him 
and  explained  the  peril  of  Roger  and  his  family, 
and  the  drunken  man's  insane  refusal  of  help  and 
warning. 

A  glance  above  showed  Barjona  that  their  fears 
were  only  too  well  founded,  and — let  me  say  it  to  his 
credit — he  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment.  "  Can 
only  die  once,"  he  muttered,  and  without  another  word 
he  seized  his  whip  and  strode  towards  the  house.  As 
he  entered  the  door  Roger  covered  him  with  his  weapon 
and  defied  him  to  advance,  but  with  a  hoarse  growl 
the  sturdy  old  man  flung  himself  forward,  lashed  his 
whip  around  the  legs  of  the  drunken  man,  and  as  the 
revolver  discharged  itself  harmlessly  into  the  air,  he 
seized  his  opponent  round  the  waist,  and  with  super- 


THE   GREAT   STORM  321 

human  strength  hurled  him  into  the  corner,  where  he 
lay  stupefied,  if  not  senseless. 

The  faithful  dog  sprang  at  his  master's  assailant, 
but  he  kicked  it  quickly  aside.  It  was  the  work  of  a 
moment  to  draw  back  the  heavy  bolt  and  rush  up  the 
creaking  stairs. 

"  Out  with  you  !  "  he  cried  ..."  Out  at  once  ! 
...  no  time  to  lose  .  .  .  t'  chimney's  fallin'.  .  .  . 
Bring  Lucy,  Martha  ...  I'll  go  down  an'  watch 
Roger.  'Urry  up,  now  !  " 

We  needed  no  second  admonition.  Barjona  hurried 
down  the  steps,  and  Martha  darted  to  the  bed,  seized 
her  child  and  a  blanket,  and  followed  him.  I  had 
almost  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  when  I  remembered 
the  medicine  on  which  so  much  depended,  and  I  ran 
back  to  fetch  it.  As  I  did  so  I  thought  I  heard  a  warning 
cry  from  the  street,  and  fear  gave  wings  to  my  feet. 
But  it  was  too  late. 

Just  as  I  reached  the  dressing-table  there  came  a 
fearful  crash,  and  through  an  opening  in  the  roof  an 
avalanche  of  stones  and  tiles  and  mortar  descended  with 
terrific  force.  Then,  to  the  accompaniment  of  an 
awful  roar,  a  dark  and  heavy  mass  hurled  itself  through 
the  gap,  and  the  crunch  of  broken  beam  and  splintered 
wood  told  where  it  had  disappeared  into  the  room 
below.  A  pit  opened  almost  at  my  feet,  and  there 
came  up  a  blinding,  suffocating  mist  of  dust,  like  the 
breath  of  a  smouldering  volcano. 

One  whole  end  of  the  house  fell  over  into  the  field, 
and  I  felt  the  floor  slope  away  beneath  me  as  I  made 

Y 


322  WINDYRIDGE 

an  agonised  clutch  at  the  framework  of  the  bed. 
Loosened  stones  fell  upon  and  around  me  in  showers, 
but  I  was  conscious  of  no  pain.  Choked  and  terrified, 
however,  and  certain  that  my  last  hour  had  come,  I 
lost  my  senses  and  fell  upon  the  littered  bed  in  a 
swoon. 

I  came  back  to  semi-consciousness  in  a  land  of 
shadows.  I  thought  I  was  in  Egypt,  lying  among  the 
ruins  of  the  great  Nile  temples  about  which  I  had  been 
reading  to  the  squire  only  a  day  or  two  before.  Over- 
head the  moon  was  looking  down,  full  orbed,  and 
tattered  clouds  were  racing  along  the  path  of  the 
skies.  The  jagged  piles  of  masonry  were  the  giant 
walls  of  Philae,  and  the  roar  of  the  wind  was  the  rush 
of  waters  over  the  great  dam.  It  was  not  unpleasant 
to  lie  there  and  dream,  and  listen  to  the  spirit  voices 
which  came  indistinctly  from  the  pillared  courts. 

Then  the  figure  of  a  man  bent  over  me  and  an  arm 
was  placed  beneath  my  neck,  and  a  familiar  voice 
whispered  in  tones  that  sounded  anguished,  and  oh  ! 
so  distant : 

"  Grace,  my  darling  !     Speak  to  me  !  " 

I  tried  to  speak,  but  could  only  smile  and  lean  upon 
his  arm  in  deep  content,  and  the  figure  bent  over  me 
and  placed  his  cheek  against  my  lips,  and  laid  a  hand 
upon  my  heart,  and  seemed  to  cry  for  help  ;  but  the 
cry  was  faint  and  indistinct,  like  that  of  a  distant 
echo. 

Then  another  form  appeared — taller  and  more 
stalwart — and  I  felt  myself  raised  from  the  ground  and 


THE  GREAT   STORM  323 

carried  to  the  top  of  the  masonry,  where  formless  hands 
grasped  me,  and  I  sank — sank — with  a  feeling  that 
I  was  descending  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth — into 
oblivion  again. 

When  I  next  awoke  my  mind  was  clearer,  but  I 
was  still  dazed.  I  half  opened  my  eyes  and  found 
myself  in  my  own  bed,  with  the  housekeeper  seated 
at  my  side,  and  Dr.  Trempest  and  the  squire  talking 
together  in  quiet  tones  by  the  fire. 

"  How  in  thunder  did  they  get  her  down  ?  "  the 
doctor  was  asking. 

"  Derwent  heard  the  story  as  he  got  to  the  Hall, 
and  he  fetched  a  short  ladder  and  climbed  up  as  far 
as  he  could,  and  did  some  wonderful  gymnastics," 
replied  the  squire ;  "  but  Goodenough's  sons  came 
hurrying  up  with  longer  ladders,  and  they  lashed  three 
together  side  by  side,  and  managed  in  that  way. 
Derwent  couldn't  lift  her,  but  Ben  Goodenough  has 
the  strength  of  an  ox.  But  it  was  a  tough  job  in  a  high 
wind  on  a  rickety  floor." 

"  Well,  it's  a  miracle,  that's  all  I  can  say.  I  must 
go  see  Martha  Treffit's  child  now,  but  I'll  look  in  to- 
morrow, early  on." 

"  You  are  sure  there  is  no  cause  for  anxiety  ?  " 
inquired  the  squire  anxiously  ;  "  she  will  come  round 
all  right  ?  " 

"  As  right  as  a  bobbin,"  replied  the  doctor  cheer- 
fully. "  There's  only  the  least  bit  of  concussion. 
She  was  more  frightened  than  hurt.  I'll  send  her  up 
a  bottle  when  I  get  back." 


324  WINDYRIDGE 

"  You  needn't  trouble,"  I  ejaculated  ;  "  it  won't  be 
mixed  with  faith  this  time." 

"  She'll  do  !  "  chuckled  the  doctor,  and  he  turned 
to  me  :  "  Go  to  sleep  now  and  behave  yourself." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CALM   AFTER   STORM 

OF  course  the  Cynic  had  to  explain,  because  he 
did  not  realise  at  first  how  shadowy  the 
whole  occurrence  had  been  to  me.  You  see, 
I  really  was  not  fully  conscious  at  the  time,  and  might 
easily  have  concluded  that  I  had  dreamt  it. 

However,  he  is  my  Cynic  now,  really,  so  I  can  talk 
quite  freely  to  him  ;  and  I  tell  him  that  after  he  called 
me  "  darling  "  and  whilst  he  was  trying  to  make  sure 
that  I  still  breathed,  he  kissed  me  ;  but  he  says  that 
convinces  him  that  I  really  was  dreaming.  But  we 
have  agreed  not  to  quarrel  about  it,  as  one  more  or 
less  doesn't  much  matter. 

His  professional  duties  must  be  pretty  elastic,  for 
it  is  now  Wednesday  and  he  has  not  gone  back ;  though, 
to  be  sure,  he  has  done  a  fair  amount  of  pleading  in  a 
local  court  and  has  won  the  first  part  of  his  case  and 
seems  likely  to  be  successful  in  the  next.  A  remarkable 
thing  about  these  bachelors  who  have  waited  so  long 
is  that  they  cannot  afford  to  wait  the  least  bit  longer. 
They  are  no  sooner  engaged  than  they  must  be  married. 
But  in  this  instance  things  are  going  to  be  done  decently 
and  in  order.  The  squire  says  we  do  not  know  each 
other  well  enough  yet,  and  suggests  two  years  as  the 


326  WINDYRIDGE 

term  of  our  engagement,  but  I  think  we  shall  com- 
promise on  four  months. 

"  What  about  my  studio,  Philip  ?  "  I  asked  this 
morning.  "  I  have  not  seen  it  for  days,  and  it  is  as 
dear  to  me  as  a  lover." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  said  ;   "  can  you  bear  to  walk  as  far  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  I  replied;  "  I'm  all  right  now." 

"  You'll  have  to  take  my  arm,"  he  remarked ; 
"  you  are  only  shaky  yet." 

It  was  merely  an  excuse,  but  I  did  it  to  please  him. 
Of  course  all  the  village  knows  what  has  happened, 
and  a  dozen  friendly  folk  nodded  or  smiled  or  shouted 
their  congratulations  according  to  the  measure  of  their 
intimacy  or  reserve. 

When  we  came  in  sight  of  my  cottage  the  studio 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and,  greatly  surprised,  I 
turned  to  the  Cynic  for  an  explanation,  but  he  merely 
pressed  my  arm  and  said  : 

"  Farmer  Goodenough  is  there.  He  will  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

I  held  my  peace  until  we  entered  the  field  and  stood 
by  my  late  landlord's  side.  Explanation  was  un- 
necessary, for  the  field  was  still  littered  with  splintered 
wood  and  broken  glass,  though  much  of  it  had  been 
cleared  away. 

"  So  you're  about  again,  miss  !  Well,  I'm  down- 
right glad  to  see  you."  Then,  indicating  the  debris 
with  an  inclination  of  the  head  :  "  I've  sorted  out  all 
'at  seemed  to  be  worth  ought.  All  t'  glass  picturs 
'at  weren't  reight  smashed  I've  put  into  a  box  an' 


CALM   AFTER  STORM  327 

ta'en  into  t'  'ouse.  But  there  isn't  much  left.  Them 
'at  saw  it  say  'at  t'stewdio  cut  up  t'  paddock  like  a 
hairy  plane,  an'  it  must  ha'  collapsed  in  t'same  way." 

"  It  knew  it  was  doomed,"  remarked  the  Cynic, 
"  supplanted  —  and  it  promptly  put  an  end  to  itself." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  miss,"  put  in  Reuben,  "  there's 
nought  to  fret  about.  '  Off  wi'  the  old  love  an'  on 
with  the  new  !  '  I'd  nearly  put  that  down  to  t'  Owd 
Book,  but  I  should  ha'  been  mista'en.  However, 
ye've  made  a  good  swop,  an'  I  don't  know  which  on 
ye's  got  t'  best  o'  t'  bargain." 

"  I  have,  Reuben,"  said  the  Cynic  heartily. 

I  wasn't  going  to  contradict  him,  of  course,  though 
I  know  he  is  "  mista'en." 

"  I  was  just  thinkin',  miss,  if  it's  all  t'  same  to  you," 
continued  the  farmer,  "  'at  it  'ud  be  a  charity  to  let 
Martha  an'  her  little  lass  have  your  cottage.  You 


"  But  you  forget  they  are  only  for  widows,  Mr. 
Goodenough,"  I  interrupted. 

He  glanced  quickly  at  Philip.  "  They  haven't  told 
you  then,  miss  ?  Well,  it's  out  now.  Martha  is  a 
widow.  Barjona  got  clear  by  t'  skin  of  his  teeth,  but 
Roger  an'  t'  dog  were  killed  on  t'  spot  ;  an'  though 
it  sounds  a  'ard  sayin',  it's  no  loss  to  Martha  an'  Lucy. 
Are  we  to  let  'em  have  t'  cottage,  think  ye  ?  " 

I  agreed,  of  course  ;  but  the  tragic  death  of  Roger 
had  saddened  me,  and  as  usual  Reuben  noticed  my 
clouded  expression. 

"  Now  don't  you  take  on,  rniss.     You'll  'a  veto  leave 


328  WINDYRIDGE 

these  things  to  them  above.  After  all,  as  t'  Owd  Book 
says,  '  It's  an  ill  wind  'at  blows  nobody  any  good,' 
an'  t'  storm  has  blown  you  two  into  one  another's 
arms  an'  Martha  into  t'  cottage,  in  a  manner  o'  speakin'; 
so  we  must  look  on  t'  cheerful  side.  However,  I  must 
be  stirring." 

He  raised  his  cap  and  left  us,  and  I  turned  to  the 
Cynic. 

"  Philip,"  I  said,  and  I  know  the  tears  filled  my 
eyes,  "  the  sight  of  the  cottage  brings  back  to  me 
sweet  memories  of  dear  old  Mother  Hubbard.  How 
delighted  she  would  have  been  to  welcome  us  !  How 
pleased  she  would  have  been  if  she  had  known  !  " 

"  She  did  know,  Grace,"  he  replied.  "  I  called  to 
see  her  when  you  were  away,  and  the  good  soul  spoke 
to  me  about  you  in  such  loving  terms  that  I  could  not 
help  making  her  my  confidante  ;  and  do  you  know, 
she  asked  if  she  might  kiss  me  before  I  left.  She  hoped 
to  live  to  see  the  consummation,  but  if  that  were  denied 
her  she  bade  me  tell  you  how  earnestly  she  had  prayed 
for  our  happiness,  and  how  fervently  she  had  longed 
to  see  us  united." 

Now  I  have  reached  the  very  last  line  in  my  book. 
How  could  I  end  it  better  than  with  Mother  Hubbard 's 
blessing  ? 

THE  END 


THE  ANCHOB  PRESS,  LTD.,  T1PTKKK,   KSSEI. 


